


Smoke and Mirrors

by omphalos, Wolfling



Series: Of Old Mystics [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Epic, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Magic, Post-Canon, Romance, Schmoop, Urban Fantasy, wild youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-25
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 81,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles and Ethan wrestle with issues of power and bonding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of Old Mystics was originally published regularly between May 2003 - March 2005. The story begins some months after the end of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 7. Smoke and Mirrors is the second volume of the epic saga.

_ **Then...** _

"Any requests?" Ripper asked from the bed, not looking up from tuning his guitar.

It took a few seconds for the question to register, so intent was Ethan in watching the other boy's hands move so surely over the instrument. He thought a little while, wiggling about within the nest of floor cushions to try to get more comfortable, and as his eyes fell upon the painted tobacco tin near his feet, he began to smirk. "Puff the Magic Dragon, if you would."

That got him an amused glance. "The song or the activity?" Ripper asked teasingly.

"You take care of the former, and I'll sort out the latter. How's that sound?" He picked up the tin and opened it carefully, not wanting to spill any of the small treasures inside.

"Efficient." Ripper played the opening chords of the requested song.

Again, Ethan found himself mesmerised by Ripper's hands, the open tin forgotten in his own, and when his lover began to sing, Ethan felt himself getting caught up in the silly tale about the boy and his dragon. After the last night's happy and inevitably intense debauchery with the others in their closed circle, they were both somewhat dazed and indolent this long, Sunday afternoon.

As always, Ripper seemed to get as lost in his own music as Ethan did; his eyes were closed, and his expression was one that never failed to make Ethan catch his breath. And somehow Ripper managed to eject sufficient pathos into the final maudlin verse –in which the boy grew up and left the dragon behind to mope alone in his cave– to actually bring a certain embarrassing dampness to Ethan's eye.

To cover it, he quickly set about the business of shredding and rolling.

Ripper finished the song, letting the last chords trail off into silence, opening his eyes and laying the guitar aside self-consciously. "I think we need a joint after that."

This was one of those moments when Ethan desperately wanted to tell Ripper how much he loved him, but he wouldn't, couldn't, let the words escape. Only when Ripper had broken through Ethan's many protective barriers with sex and magic could Ethan allow himself to say those words. He hoped Ripper knew though, that Ethan loved him all the time and not just when high and shagged half-senseless.

Thinking about the song, which really didn't deserve such time and energy being spent on it, Ethan said, "I never want to grow so old I forget the magic. Let's stay in Honah Lee forever, my dear."

Ripper smiled sardonically, reaching over and plucking the just-made joint from Ethan's fingers. "This will certainly keep us there for the foreseeable future," he said. Then he glanced up and met Ethan's eyes, his own suddenly serious. "And you're more likely to forget your name than forget your magic." Ethan smiled, touched that Ripper knew him so well.

As Ripper, with a touch of magic, lit up the well-made spliff, Ethan moved over to sit beside him on the bed, biting softly into the other boy's shoulder through his shirt. "Last night was fun."

"Yes." Ripper shot him a fond look as he took a drag then offered the joint to Ethan. "You seemed to be enjoying being the centre of attention."

After taking, and holding, a lazy toke, Ethan blew the smoke out in a long stream and rode the buzz briefly in silence before answering. "All of them looking, none of them seeing, apart from you. Yes, I like it that way; you're right."

"You were... mesmerising," Ripper told him, his voice becoming a bit dreamy as he took the joint back.

Making the most of having his hands free, Ethan moved onto his knees behind Ripper and wrapped his arms around his lover, resting his chin on Ripper's shoulder. "I'm glad you think so."

His tone was dry, but that didn't change the fact that he meant it. His displays of glitter and excess were usually nothing more than camouflage, blinding other people to the reality of what he was. But when Ripper was there, they became something a lot more real and intense. Sometimes, with Ripper's gaze upon him, Ethan felt like he was somehow dancing in an exquisite ballet for an audience of one.

"I like watching you," Ripper continued in the same dreamy tone, letting his head fall back onto Ethan's shoulder. His free hand slid sensuously along Ethan's arm. "You move like..." Ripper broke off with a throaty chuckle before continuing. "Like sex."

Ethan giggled a little at that and pressed himself against Ripper's back, rubbing lightly from side to side with a sway of his hips. "Like this you mean?" He leant forward over his lover's shoulder encouragingly, hoping Ripper would hold the joint up to his lips.

"Something like that." Ripper took a drag himself then moved enough to be able to kiss Ethan, exhaling the potent smoke into his mouth.

They were quiet for a while after that, apart from small moans and appreciative sighs, as they lost themselves in each other's mouths and the heady hit of the blowback. Ethan moved slowly around so that they were sitting side by side, facing each other, and he slipped his arms under Ripper's T-shirt to stroke sensually over smooth flesh.

Ripper made a small appreciative sound in the back of his throat and slid an arm around Ethan, pulling him closer, his kiss turning harder, possessive, and Ethan, as usual, met this receptively. It was his way to let Ripper control the embrace, Ethan submitting happily to physical demands. Yet, today, Ethan found he wanted something more than just the usual.

Separating his mouth from Ripper's, he bent and took another toke from the dwindling joint, letting it hit his bloodstream while he sat back on his heels and gazed at his lover appraisingly.

"That look always means trouble," Ripper murmured, although the only thing that shone in his eyes was anticipation. "What are you thinking?"

"Why don't you roll us another, and I'll show you," Ethan purred. Ripper quirked a smile at him, then reached for the tin to do just that, and Ethan slipped from the bed and slowly stripped. He wasn't dancing as such, but he let his body sway slightly to an inner music as he undressed. It seemed to have the desired effect as Ripper spent as much time watching him, eyes dark with want, as he did deftly creating another joint.

Once Ripper's task was complete, if unlit, and his attention was all Ethan's, Ethan closed his eyes and began, with flat palms and splayed open fingers, to slowly caress his own body.

First exploring his chest and belly, Ethan dragged over his taut nipples and delved down to stroke over the edge of his pubic hairs. He tipped his head back, groaning softly, as the upper hand raised to encircle his throat. And then it swept up further to press fingers to his kissing lips. He stuck his tongue out to wet the tips; his eyes still closed, and his other hand moved lower still.

He heard Ripper growl, heard the springs in the bed creak as Ripper moved. Speaking quickly, Ethan said, "No, stay, please. Let me do this for you."

There was a pause, and then Ripper chuckled huskily. "Going to put on a show, love?" he asked, and Ethan heard the springs creak again, presumably from Ripper settling back.

"I exist to entertain you," Ethan chuckled. "Light up and relax." He continued to rub his hands all over his body, still swaying slightly, until he heard the muttered incantation from Ripper and smelled fresh smoke in the room. Then Ethan opened his eyes and locked gazes with the other boy, prowling forward towards him.

Ripper was eyeing him with desire, want, and admiration. "Mesmerising," he murmured again, reaching out a hand and beckoning Ethan to him.

"Uh uh," Ethan shook his head. "Today, you don't get to take. Lay back and put your hands above your head." It was a risk he was taking here; he'd never assumed control before.

Ripper raised his eyebrows in surprise, but after a second, he grinned and stretched out, raising his hands over his head, the joint still held in his left one. "What next?" he asked, sounding amused.

"Now," Ethan replied, climbing onto the bed and crawling up his lover's body, "For what you are about to receive, may the powers make you truly thankful." Sitting astride Ripper, Ethan reached out and stole the spliff from his hand, inhaling deeply.

"I'm sure I will be, providing there's more to this than watching you smoke."

Bending down, Ethan shared his breath with Ripper, while simultaneously rubbing his naked body over Ripper's still clothed one, continuing the slow, soft rhythm of his non-dance. When the smoke was pretty much exhausted between their two sets of lungs, he moved back a small way and teased his lover's lips with his tongue.

Ripper lifted his head in an effort to capture Ethan's mouth, but kept his hands still above his head. Ethan backed up, smiling. "No taking," he reminded his lover. "Just receiving." Instead, he filled Ripper's questing lips with the spliff, and bent to nibble at his lover's neck. "I want you naked," he murmured.

"Feel free to take my clothes off then," Ripper invited, mumbling in an effort to not lose the joint. Ethan took it from him, took a deep drag, and then placed it on the side.

_"Texurum divid!"_ he said, running his finger down Ripper's chest and laughing as the cloth of Ripper's shirt separated under his touch. It really was very funny.

That earned him an eye roll, which quickly morphed into an almost-glare. "These are my favourite jeans," Ripper said, giving ample warning.

"Shhh," Ethan hushed him, still giggling quietly, but he took the warning seriously and removed Ripper's trousers the more conventional way. His lover was naked underneath, his cock hard and impatient. Ethan pressed soft lips to the very tip of it and then moved back up the bed to reclaim the joint and share another toke with Ripper.

Taking advantage of the action, Ripper brushed his lips against Ethan's, quickly deepening the contact to a long lingering kiss. Ethan let him, unable to resist, the pot making him mellow and obliging.

But after a while –quite a long while– Ethan reluctantly broke away and started again to move slowly down his lover's body, licking, kissing, and even biting as he descended, the spliff held safely away from Ripper between two fingers. Ripper obligingly held still, but Ethan could feel the tensing and twitching of his lover's muscles under his mouth. Looking up, he found Ripper's gaze, dark with drugs and arousal, focused entirely on him.

The sight made Ethan moan and thrust himself against Ripper's legs.

Thinking he was sharing a deep thought, and maybe he was, Ethan commented, "Your eyes make me into one big erogenous zone. Sometimes I think you'd only need to look at me like that for long enough, and I'd be coming." He giggled. "So careful where you try it then."

Then he bent his head low and took the head of Ripper's cock into his mouth.

Ripper groaned, the sound going down Ethan's spine like a physical touch. Deftly, Ethan worked up and down the thick shaft, his aim to make it as wet as he could. Then he drew back far enough to take a long drag on the joint. In one, long, carefully controlled stream, he blew the smoke across Ripper's glistening and oh so beautiful cock.

Ripper's hips jerked upward, and he swallowed a muttered curse in reaction. Reflexively, he started to lower his arms, but stopped himself before Ethan could say anything.

Ethan smiled. Grasping the other boy's shaft in his free fist and starting to slowly work it, he bent his head lower to lick and then suck on Ripper's balls, taking each into his mouth in turn and massaging softly with his tongue. He heard Ripper gasp out his name like a prayer or a curse, and felt Ripper's muscles tremble as he fought to remain perfectly still under Ethan's attentions.

Chuckling, Ethan sat back on his heels. "I think you should roll over now, dearheart. Hands and knees, if you please." He enjoyed more of the heavy smoke while he waited. Ripper did as he was told with gratifying speed, all of the energy held in check during his forced stillness exploding into the requested movement.

Moving between Ripper's legs, Ethan paused briefly to view the sight presented him, which under the influence of love and a whole load of pot, seemed to have become something beautiful and otherworldly as opposed to simply his lover's arse.

Half-giggling, half-moaning, he bent his head to kiss and nibble Ripper's buttocks, first one and then the other, his tongue leaving glistening trails as he moved between them. Ripper himself remained silent, but the little shifts in movement, and the feel of his muscles tensing and releasing, let Ethan know Ripper was enjoying himself.

"You know," Ethan said, a little dreamily, "there's something I've always wanted to try." As he considered it, he moved his head lower, to lick, cat-like, up the back of Ripper's balls and along the perineum, teasing the sensitive nerve endings there.

"And what's that?" Ripper asked, voice deep and throaty.

Ethan took another deep pull on the joint, blowing over the wet areas he'd made, before replying. "Smoke," he finally said, apparently answering a completely different question, "is the illusionist's greatest asset, along with mirrors, of course." He returned his tongue and lips to Ripper's sensitive skin and started to work his way upwards, using his fingers to part his lover's buttocks further, so that he could push his face between them.

Ripper groaned loudly at the first touch. "We've the smoke, although we're short on the mir– Oh God."

Giggling against Ripper's skin, Ethan kissed the puckered hole as if it were a mouth, running his tongue back and forth and poking a little way inside the muscle. At the same time, his free hand moved round to grasp Ripper's cock again and stroke it firmly.

"You can keep doing that as long as you want," Ripper gasped, his hips moving between the two sources of sensation.

Ethan moved back just long enough to fill his lungs with smoke and pressed his lips back down, sealing to Ripper's skin. He looped his tongue, making a kind of straw, and pushed between the tight muscle, blowing the smoke from his lungs inside Ripper.

The reaction was immediate; Ripper threw his head back and gasped. "Wha-?"

Pulling back for another toke, Ethan first said, "It's all an illusion, my dear. Nothing but smoke, swirling and dancing, and telling delightful falsehoods." Lungs refilled, he bent and repeated his action, staying down longer this time and remembering to lazily stroke Ripper's cock.

"That's.... It feels..." Ripper broke off with a groan. "Christ, Ethan, that's...."

Ethan continued his activity until the joint, already quite depleted, was burnt down to the roach, which he discarded in the ashtray on the side. By this point, he was pretty much off his bonce and giggling madly. He pushed Ripper over and collapsed on top of him.

Ripper wrapped his arms around him and pulled Ethan up so he could kiss him, seeming to lose himself in the action. "Want you," he murmured against Ethan's mouth.

"Have me," Ethan murmured back and then laughed.

Rolling them over so that he was on top, Ripper chuckled. "You, love, are completely stoned."

"I will therefore gather no moss," Ethan announced grandly. He squirmed under his lover, moving his legs apart.

"Want me?" Ripper asked, teasing Ethan's lips again, but Ethan didn't answer with words, choosing to wrap his arms and legs around Ripper and wriggle sensually instead. "I'll take that as a yes," Ripper said, and then he was pushing inside.

Ethan tipped his head back, breathing fast and grinning with an open mouth. As Ripper started to move within him, he said, "I refuse... to accept.. that you're not... totally stoked too."

Ripper grinned. "Maybe a little." He found Ethan's hands and clasped them in his own. Then, smile getting bigger, he sent a pulse of magic along Ethan's nerves.

Ethan's moan was probably somewhat closer to a wail as the touch of Ripper's magic ignited his own, and his body was wracked with waves of sparkling sensation. His doped-up mind had no chance of resisting; he could only ride the waves and trust his lover to guide him safely. It seemed to go on forever: the pleasure, the sensation, Ripper in his body, in his mind, in his soul. It was almost enough, almost too much, as the waves went higher and higher, threatening to pull him under completely.

"Tell me," Ripper demanded in a breathless voice, pounding into Ethan with flesh and magic.

Ripped open and laid bare by his lover, who was living up to his name far too well, Ethan had no choice but to comply; to surrender the words he'd held onto so tightly. Tears ran down his transfixed face as he cried out, "I... I love you."

He was rewarded by another surge of magic and a powerful thrust that hit exactly in the right spot, more than enough to push him completely over the top.

***

_ **Now...** _

"Of course, we'll have to introduce them to drugs at some stage," Ethan said, watching their two Slayers do callisthenics on the mats at the far end of the warehouse - this being the substantial building which housed the indoor aspects of the brand-new, purpose-built Slayer training facility near St Albans.

Giles, who had been concentrating on watching the two girls' form, swung around to look at his lover. "I'm sure you're going to explain that statement in a way that doesn't sound quite so irresponsible," he said levelly.

"No, Rupert," Ethan replied, his face utterly serious, "They need a bit of fun in their dreary days of endless training. So do we, for that matter. I was thinking of letting them experience a good old English rave."

"Don't you think we'd rather stand out at such a thing?" Giles asked drily.

Ethan met Giles' eyes and smiled "Our days of drugs and clubs are long gone, but they're still young." He nodded his head sideways towards Kat and Megan. "And with their constitutions they could do that high-energy jigging about they call dance all night and hardly feel it."

"Dancing all night is one thing; drugs are certainly another, and you know it." Giles was positive that Ethan was having him on, but he was quite happy to play his part as the disapproving one, especially as things had been going so well.

It had been almost a month since he had, on impulse, drafted Ethan into helping to train the two girls, and so far, everything was turning out far better than even Giles' hopes for it. Kat and Megan seemed to genuinely connect with Ethan in a way they hadn't with any of their previous teachers, and Ethan, for all of his irreverence and his strong doubts about undertaking the responsibility, had displayed a real talent for teaching that had surprised everyone, Ethan most of all.

"I'm given to understand the taking of 'E' is a vital part of the rave experience," Ethan said.

"That may be so, but you know as well as I that you'd take apart anyone who gave it to the girls."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, neither affirming nor denying Giles' statement. "So the Council no longer believes in drugging their Slayers then?"

A flash of memory overwhelmed Giles for a brief second; the feel of the hypodermic needle in his hand, the look of betrayal on Buffy's face. Somehow Ethan must have learnt of the Cruciamentum. Giles pressed his lips together tightly as he banished the memory and the emotions it raised as best he could. "That barbaric ritual will have no place in any Council I'm a part of."

Ethan's hand touched Giles' upper arm. "Sorry," he said sincerely. "I had to know."

The touch grounded Giles in the present, and he brushed Ethan's fingers briefly with his own. "No drugs," he said quietly, summing up everything in those two words.

"No drugs," Ethan agreed. "If they need training in using their skills while intoxicated, we can fake the experience with magic and with their permission. No side effects then. At least, not for them." He frowned for a moment then called over to the Slayers. "I'm sure that's sufficient warming up, girls. I'm overheated myself just from watching you. Come over here now, and we can play a little game."

Kat and Megan both obeyed – Kat all but bouncing over, Megan following more sedately. "What's up?" Kat asked, pushing a strand of pink hair from her eyes. The girl was half-Japanese and had naturally sleek black hair cut in a tomboyish bob, but she liked to bleach strands and dye them various bright colours.

Ethan grinned. "I told you; it's time for party games. A Slayer needs to know how to have fun properly. It's written in the big Watcher book. You know, the one Rupert won't let you look in."

"I could always leave so you can malign me with impunity," Giles offered, knowing what the answer would be.

"Now, now." Ethan pouted at his partner. "You know we can't play the games without you."

Megan made a small noise, clearly about to speak. Unlike Kat, who had certain sturdiness about her, Megan was tall and very thin, and when her long hair was loose, she had the air of a weeping-willow sapling. She looked so fragile it was sometimes hard to remember that she had the strength and reflexes of a Slayer. "What kind of game is it?" she asked softly.

"Hunt the Thimble." Ethan chuckled. "Or rather hunt the rare, mystical, and absolutely vital for world safety artefact that happens to look exactly like a thimble."

Kat snorted. "Much call for mystical thimbles is there?"

Ethan nodded solemnly, a twinkle in his eye. "Yes, absolutely vital in the potent magical art of quilting. Hop to it then. You have an awful lot of warehouse to search. And don't forget to check for traps. Tea, Rupert?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you." Giles didn't even try to hide his smile; Ethan's methods might be unconventional, but that didn't stop them being effective.

"You're kidding, right?" Kat protested, looking around the indoor training facility, which they currently had to themselves.

"I suspect we're meant to look for clues," Megan murmured to her.

Ethan smiled approvingly at the shyer girl. "Everything you need to find the thimble is here in the warehouse. The game shouldn't prove a problem for observant players."

Kat continued to stare at Ethan in disbelief until Megan tugged on her arm, pulling her away to start searching. Giles watched them for a minute, making note of the way that Megan took control. Hidden depths there, if she could overcome her innate timidity.

When he turned back to Ethan, he saw Ethan was watching the two girls with equal concentration. Ethan's mouth twitched in small smiles or frowns as the Slayers' search progressed, and they got closer or further away from their objective. Apparently becoming aware of Giles' attention, Ethan dragged his gaze around to look at him. "Right, tea," he grinned, and headed off to their little Watchers' office to make it.

After one last glance at the two Slayers, Giles followed, entering the office and smiling as he watched Ethan putter around making tea. "You're loving this, aren't you?"

"The chance to corrupt young minds? What's not to love?"

"Corrupting." Giles nodded knowingly as he sat down. "Of course."

Ethan turned around and leant back on the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil. He looked at Giles thoughtfully and then commented in a quiet voice, "They're good girls."

"Yes, they are," Giles agreed, waiting for a hint of what exactly was going on in Ethan's mind.

"Doesn't it bother you, Rupert? We're turning children into soldiers."

Ah. "Welcome to my world." It was a bit disconcerting hearing some of the ethical dilemmas that Giles had struggled with for years coming out of Ethan's mouth. Still, at least it was a subject he was well versed in. "Even if they're not going to be active, they're still going to be targets. We're teaching them what they need to know to survive."

Ethan nodded. "You're quite right, of course." He turned around and opened the tea tin, spooning some of the black leaves into the pot. "I'm thinking about going out tonight," he said casually.

The sudden change of subject didn't throw Giles off so much as it stirred worries that he'd manage to almost bury. "Alone?" he asked, managing to match Ethan's casual tone.

Ethan kept his back to Giles, pouring water into the pot. "If that's alright with you. Kat said something about co-dependency or some other Californian pop-psychology term. I had to admit we do rather live in each other's pockets."

"And that's bothering you?" Giles continued to keep his voice casual, although he felt anything but.

"Oh, not at all," Ethan reassured, although he still didn't turn around. "I just thought it might be a good idea for both of us if we had occasional evenings apart. Don't want you getting sick of the sight of my face, Rupert."

"If that hasn't happened by now, I sincerely doubt it's going to," Giles replied a bit more vehemently than he had intended. He took a deep breath and did his best to be graceful about this. "Although of course, if you want to take an evening out, you should feel free to do so. I wouldn't want you to get sick of my face either."

And now, at last, Ethan turned, and after a quick check outside the office door, he walked over to Giles and touched his cheek with a gentle hand. "If this face is the last thing I ever see, I'll be happy enough with my life," he said, with that scorching sincerity he sometimes found these days. Then he grinned jauntily. "Of course, I'm rather hoping for many more years of waking up to it before that day comes."

The words eased some of the fear that Giles had not quite been able to banish since the rekindling of their relationship, fears that he didn't like to acknowledge even to himself about not being enough to hold Ethan once the man had recovered sufficiently to leave. Reacting to his fears, and to Ethan's words, Giles reached up and pulled Ethan down to kiss him long enough and hard enough to leave them both a bit breathless. "Remember that when you're out tonight."

With a rather stunned expression, Ethan nodded. He looked like he was about to lean in for another kiss, but then there was a noise from outside the office. They both looked up to see two pairs of eyes staring at them through the window.

Giles got up and opened the door. "I trust this interruption is because you found the thimble?"

Kat grinned cheekily up at him, "Nah, we found your cellphone instead. It was playing that smoke on the river thing again." She handed the offending article over to Giles. "And gotta say, you two together... hot!" She waved her fingers about and blew on them expressively.

Megan blushed and looked down, but Giles could see a small smile on her face as well.

Before Giles could respond, the phone in his hand rang again, and he answered it. "Hello?"

"Hello sir, it's Pamela. I realise you're busy, but we have a bit of an unfortunate situation here." He could hear the strain in her voice.

Sighing, Giles sat back down. "What is it now, Pamela?"

Ethan frowned and murmured something to the girls who promptly left the office. He turned to pour the tea.

"It's Ms Travers, sir. Certain... issues have arisen. We really could do with you in the office."

Giles let out another sigh, reflecting he'd been doing that an awful lot since Francesca Travers, the late Quentin's daughter, had shown up. "This can't wait?"

He heard Pamela take a deep breath. "In my judgement, no, sir. I think the situation requires damage control that I simply don't have the seniority to supply myself, much though I'd prefer not to bother you today."

Ethan placed a mug of hot tea down beside Giles and gestured with his eyes to the door, obviously asking if he should give Giles some privacy. Giles reached out and touched Ethan's hand in a staying gesture. "Just what kind of damage control am I going to need to do?" he asked Pamela.

"Talk to her, sir? She simply won't listen to reason. Her father... well, let's just say she doesn't like the changes to Council tradition that you have initiated, and the others are too cowed by memories of her father to protest as she sweeps around the place countermanding your every instruction."

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "All right. I'll be there as soon as I can. Please tell Ms Travers I've asked her to wait in my office until I arrive."

"I'll pass the message on immediately, sir. I'm sorry about this."

As Giles turned the phone off, Ethan moved behind the chair and began to gently massage his shoulders. "Trouble?"

"You could say that," Giles replied, letting himself relax into Ethan's touch for a moment. "I've mentioned Francesca Travers to you...?"

"Your predecessor's daughter with the big daddy issues. Yes, her name may have passed your lips once or twice." There was gentle amusement in Ethan's tone.

"I can't imagine why," Giles replied in kind, then sighed as he continued. "Apparently she's been throwing her weight around in my absence. Blasted woman needs a leash." He paused. "Possibly a muzzle."

"I could turn her into a Balshat Demon for you," Ethan offered. "They come ready supplied with a number of leather accoutrements."

"Not that I'm not tempted, but turning her into a demon would do more harm than good. Might improve her personality though."

Ethan chuckled softly. "So playtime is over for today?"

"For me at least." Reluctantly, Giles pulled away from Ethan's hands and stood. "Looks like you picked a good night to go out, love. Knowing Francesca, I'm probably going to be tied up with this for quite some time."

Ethan didn't exactly looked pleased at the prospect, but when he spoke it was with an obliging tone. "I'll get the girls home on the train if you like. Maybe take them shopping. That way, they can actually find the damn thimble before we leave here." He smiled.

"I'm sure they'll like that," Giles said, moving to kiss Ethan. "If I don't see you before, I'll see you in the morning."

Something uncertain seemed to flicker through Ethan's eyes, but he nodded, still smiling. "Try to remain calm with the bitch, Rupert. She doesn't deserve the exquisite thrill of your anger. And if all else fails, just think 'Balshat.'"

Giles smiled back and kissed Ethan one more time before moving away. "Have fun tonight." And come home to me, he thought, but didn't add. He did say after a moment's hesitation, "If I'm asleep when you get home, don't be afraid to wake me."

Again the doubt flickered through the dark eyes. "Of course," Ethan replied.

Giles wanted to stay and see about what was causing those flickers of doubt, but duty called. Vowing to find out later, he squeezed Ethan's arm as he passed, heading out of the office and the warehouse to go do battle with a harridan.

A Balshat demon would be easier to handle.


	2. Chapter 2

After shutting the front door as carefully and quietly as he could manage, Ethan peered blearily at the clock. He grimaced; it was nearly three in the morning. He'd never intended to be out so late; things had got a little out of hand.

Hanging his coat up on the peg, he then crept his way upstairs, wincing when he forgot the creaking stair near the top; the noise sounded stupidly loud in the silent house. The reading lamp was on in the master bedroom, and Rupert, although fast asleep, was still sitting up in bed, his glasses on and an open book on his lap. He was snoring quietly and looked, Ethan had to admit, quite adorable.

Guilt washed through Ethan, and he hated the feeling. Rupert had clearly been waiting up for him. With all the stealth he could muster, considering he was still a little giddy, he quickly stripped and then carefully removed both book and glasses, placing the book over the top of the digital alarm clock to obscure the late –or indeed early– hour.

He slipped into bed beside Rupert and snuggled up to the sitting man. Even in his sleep, Rupert responded to Ethan's presence, shifting to accommodate him and wrapping an arm around Ethan's shoulders to pull him closer.

Feeling regret about not being there for Rupert after what had undoubtedly been a long and gruelling afternoon dealing with a difficult colleague, Ethan kissed the other man softly on the chest and murmured, "I'm sorry, Ripper."

The half-embrace that Rupert had him in tightened in response to Ethan's voice, and Ethan could see that he was close to waking. And even though he knew it would undoubtedly be better for him were Rupert to sleep through until the morning, something inside Ethan wanted to wake him. He craved his partner's company.

Running a caressing hand up and down the grey-haired chest, Ethan pressed a few more gentle kisses to the warm skin and murmured, "Hi honey, I'm home."

Rupert's eyelids fluttered for a few seconds then he was blinking sleepily down at Ethan. "You're back," he murmured, and the relief imbued in those two words sent another stab of guilt through Ethan.

"Been back a while." It wasn't exactly a lie; a 'while' could mean anything, more or less. "I wasn't sure if I should wake you, but I was missing you down here under the covers. Come down and snuggle?"

Rupert immediately moved to do so, and the next few moments were spent shifting around until they were comfortably wrapped in each other's arms. "Did you have a good night?" Rupert asked, leaning in to kiss him.

Wanting very much to avoid talking about his night, and also wanting the kiss just for the kiss's sake, Ethan moved hungrily towards Rupert's mouth. The embrace was long and lingering, but when Rupert pulled back, he was frowning.

Trying to disguise his instant concern at Rupert's expression, Ethan asked, "Have I developed halitosis since our last kiss?"

"Ethan, did something happen while you were out?" Rupert asked, still frowning, one hand coming up to stroke Ethan's cheek.

"Nothing of any significance," Ethan claimed, looking down under the pretence of kissing his lover's shoulder. Now that was definitely a lie. "How were things at the office? Did you manage to solve your problems with Daddy's Dearest?"

"That particular demon has been muzzled, at least for the moment." Rupert's hand slid down to Ethan's chin, tilting his face up to meet Rupert's worried eyes. "I'm more concerned at the moment about why you taste of magic."

Bugger.

A brick of something nasty seemed to settle in Ethan's stomach. "It's nothing to worry about, Rupert, I assure you. I'm sorry if it provoked unpleasant twinges."

"I couldn't care less about whatever twinges it gives me," Rupert all but growled, brushing away that concern. "What I do care about is what's happening to you."

Why had Ethan been so bloody stupid as to wake Rupert up? The residue would have all been gone by the morning. "Really nothing to worry yourself over," he reiterated and turned over in the bed to face the other way. "I'm tired, dearheart. Can't this wait until the morning?"

Rupert pressed up behind him, wrapping an arm around Ethan's waist and pulling him into his body. "Why won't you talk to me, love?" he asked softly.

Because if Ethan did, Rupert would surely leave him again, and Ethan could never survive that. Not now, not after everything that had happened. "Don't you trust me?" he asked, and was alarmed to hear how miserable his own voice sounded.

He was pulled even closer and a kiss was dropped on his shoulder. "With my heart and soul," Rupert replied fiercely.

Ethan was suddenly feeling something ridiculously close to mortal terror. Rupert really couldn't have said anything more wonderful or more terrible. He wrapped his own arms over the top of Rupert's and squeezed. "I'm sorry. So very sorry."

"For what, love?" The question was gentle, but insistent.

Ethan thought of many ways to phrase his answer, some of them defensive, some of them blaming, and some of them outright lies. In the end, and in a flat voice, he told the simple truth. "I found a quiet, safe place and performed the Ritual of Abreaction." It was a basic Chaos ritual, which was, Rupert would know all too well, meant as a dedication of self to Discordia, inducing a not inconsiderable high.

Rupert's embrace tightened around him to the point that Ethan thought he could feel his ribs creak. "I– Why?" Rupert asked, voice husky with emotion.

"Because I couldn't not." Ethan's voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

"Are–" Rupert's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before trying again. "Are you thinking of... of leaving?"

It was an odd way of putting it, but Ethan thought he knew what Rupert meant, and something started to die inside him. He'd started worshipping Chaos again, and that was not compatible with him staying here. "Please," he begged, pride forgotten. "Not again. I can't... I won't do it again. Somehow I'll resist. I... oh hell..."

There was a moment of absolute stillness from Rupert. "You think I want you to..." There was an intake of breath and then Rupert was pulling away and urging Ethan to turn over. When Ethan did so, reluctantly, he found himself looking up into eyes that were full of surprise, a bit of humour, and fierce affection. "I think we're having two different conversations here, love."

"We are?" Ethan asked, hope beginning to bud inside of him.

Rupert nodded, brushing a thumb along Ethan's cheekbone. "I don't want you to leave, Ethan. Quite the contrary."

Ethan stared at Rupert for quite a few moments before uttering a relieved and heartfelt, "Thank God."

"Can I take it from that reaction that tonight wasn't about you beginning to make plans for leaving?" The question was asked with a bit of humour, but Ethan could see the very real fear in the other man's eyes.

"Rupert, I..." Ethan swallowed and forced out the words, wishing, for Rupert's sake, that he found them easier to say. "I love you." He pressed his lips to his partner's in a short hard kiss. "I'm never going to leave your side unless you use a bloody crowbar, my dear. I thought..." He sighed. "I thought, if you knew about my cravings for Chaos, that you'd leave again. Or rather, make me do so."

"Hardly. I try not to make the same mistake twice." Rupert lowered his gaze, watching as his fingers moved randomly over Ethan's skin. "I did think that Chaos would eventually make you want to leave, that this existence would start seeming like another prison."

Ethan shivered a little, whether in reaction to the light touches or Rupert's words, he wasn't sure. "Chaos is in me, Rupert. I can't pretend it isn't. Sometimes, in the Council offices, I feel like... like a cat before an earthquake, all raised hackles and claws and with a strong need to be anywhere but there. But you are in me too, you know."

Rupert lifted his head and met Ethan's gaze. "Is that going to be enough to keep you here?"

"When could I ever keep away from you?"

Some of the tension seemed to flow out of Rupert at that, but he continued to hold Ethan's gaze, his own strangely intense. "Promise me that if you do start feeling... restless, you'll talk to me. We can– We'll work something out. I don't want to lose you again."

Ethan knew that he wasn't going anywhere, but if it took a promise to get Rupert to believe that, he was happy to make it. "I promise." Realising how much Rupert needed him was a little bewildering, and Ethan ran trembling fingers down Rupert's cheek trying to convince himself this was real.

Rupert closed his eyes under Ethan's touch, but not before Ethan saw the relief that flashed through them. "Thank you," Rupert murmured softly.

Ethan wondered if he dared ask for a vow in return, but found the words wouldn't leave his lips, so he just pressed against Rupert and nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

"Did the ritual help?" Rupert sounded curious and concerned.

"For now." Ethan was having problems accepting things. "Is there something I'm failing to grasp here? Why aren't you angry?"

Rupert idly stroked Ethan's back as he asked, "Did you do something I should be angry about?"

"Should? I'm not sure. Would have been once? Most definitively."

"Once you wouldn't have restricted yourself to merely the Ritual of Abreaction."

Ethan had no idea if he'd be able to restrict himself to just that in the future either. He shifted about uneasily and then changed the subject. "The girls got home safely after spending far too much money in open-fronted shops playing unbearably loud music."

He felt the tension come back into Rupert's body. "You did... The Ritual of Abreaction was all you did? You didn't... No one was hurt?"

Ethan sighed and drew a little away from Rupert. "Trusting me with your heart and soul didn't last long, I see," he said peevishly. "I was alone and that's all I did."

Rupert pulled him close again. "I _do_ trust you, but can you blame me for worrying when you're deliberately changing the subject so abruptly?"

Looking up so that their gazes met, Ethan let Rupert see a little of how miserable he was feeling, hoping against hope that it would make Rupert take pity on him and stop asking questions.

What it got him was pulled even closer and kissed. Then Rupert pulled back enough to meet Ethan's eyes again. "I promise you, I'm not going anywhere." He caressed his fingers along Ethan's cheek, eyes following his hand instead of meeting Ethan's gaze. "I don't have it in me to give you up again." He sighed. "And that terrifies me."

"Ripper..." He'd got his promise without asking for it, and it felt... He had no idea how it felt yet; it was still too raw. Ethan buried his face in the crook of Rupert's neck again and mumbled. "At least we get to be terrified together."

"Just talk to me, Ethan," Rupert murmured, resting his head against Ethan's. "Don't leave me to imagine the worst." He added with a bit of humour, "I have far too vivid an imagination."

Ethan tried to talk about it all, he really did, but after a few long moments he had to give up. "It might be easier if you asked questions."

And that seemed as difficult for Rupert because there were several false starts before he managed, "I worry about you playing with Chaos because in the past it's led to innocent people being hurt, killed even."

Ethan was confused by his own shamed reaction to that, but he swallowed it down and simply offered, "I can promise not to involve anyone but myself if it helps at all."

Rupert's eyes closed briefly. "It does." He managed a smile and to inject some humour in his voice as he added, "Means I can go back to just worrying about getting the new Council organised. And tracking down all the new Slayers. And dealing with Francesca who seems to think she should be in charge."

Ethan paused before speaking. Rupert had just seemed to give him carte blanche to practice chaos magic so long as no one else was involved. Things had most assuredly changed. "I'll help in whatever little way I can." He ran his uppermost hand over Rupert's skin, soothing and caressing. "Even if it's only by providing a way for you to release stress."

Rupert gave him a genuine smile at that. "Do you have something in mind?"

"Always," Ethan grinned and pushed Rupert gently onto his back.

***

"Just us now, sweetheart," Ethan said encouragingly to Megan.

Giles had just taken Kat off somewhere to work with her privately on her demonology theory, with which she needed some extra help. Ethan and Megan were left alone in a Council classroom, a box of common summoning components in front of them.

Megan smiled shyly at him, but didn't say anything. The girl had come out of her shell a great deal since Ethan had first met her, but she still tended to become a bit withdrawn when she was the sole focus of attention.

"This shouldn't prove difficult," Ethan told her. "The idea is to give you a chance of recognising what an enemy might have summoned, and what you'll therefore need to fight. We'll start off using the crib sheet then try some exercises without it." Ethan removed a few components from the box and placed them on the desk. "Imagine, if you will, a large circle painted in blood, rank candles, an offering plate, and these items. What might you need to be preparing against, and how should you kill it?"

Megan looked closely at the items, then consulted the notes that Ethan had provided her with, frowning in concentration. "What time of day is it?"

"Oh very good," Ethan praised, impressed yet again with the girl's quiet intelligence. "Let's say it's dusk, shall we?"

She nodded, going through the notes, setting some of the papers aside as she eliminated them. Finally she handed one over. "This," she said, decisively.

Ethan took a quick look then nodded. "You're quite correct, of course." He studied Megan appraisingly. "What was life like before the cosmic power-share scheme hit you? I imagine you were a top student somewhere."

"I did okay, I suppose," she replied with a shrug. "My mom always thought I could do better."

Frowning, Ethan waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, what do parents know about anything?" He was past the point of being surprised at his attitude to the two Slayers under his and Rupert's care, but the protectiveness he found himself feeling towards Megan now was... peculiar. Even though the shy girl seemed to have nothing in common with the lad he had once been, Ethan somehow found himself empathising with the child. "You, Megan, are a very bright girl. And don't you ever dare let anyone convince you otherwise."

That got him a weak smile in return. "I'm trying, Ethan, harder than I ever have. Mom always says I don't apply myself, but I do, I am. I'm not–" Megan broke off suddenly, lowering her head, so that her hair hid her face.

"You're not what?" he asked gently, leaning forward slightly so he could hear.

"A waste of space," Megan whispered. "Like my father." It was obvious she was parroting words that had been thrown at her for long enough that she heard them even when the speaker wasn't around.

Suddenly Ethan understood what he was connecting to. He pushed Megan's hair from her face and tipped her head up so he could meet her eyes.

"The only wastes of space in this world," he said fiercely, "are people who would say such things to a child. You are a highly intelligent young woman, a Slayer, and I'm changing today's lesson plan." He let her face go and stood up.

Megan stood up as well, although her expression showed that she had no idea what he was doing, or why.

Ethan smiled as he guided her out of the door. "Don't look so worried. I'm only going to take you for a ride on the London Eye."

"The what?" Megan asked, her innate curiosity beginning to draw her out again.

"A huge ferris wheel with a difference. I've never ridden in it either. I wasn't... available when it was built to mark the Millennium."

Her eyes lit up. "The one that's up by Big Ben? I was wondering what that was."

As they headed down the stairs to the backdoor of the Council building, Ethan told her, "Apparently, on a clear day like today, you can see for miles in all directions. Thought we both could use some perspective. And anyway, it should be fun, and that's what matters in the end." He winked at her. "I'll buy you a candyfloss."

Much to Ethan's delight, Megan giggled at that. "I just can't picture you eating cotton candy."

"Why ever not?" He turned a raised eyebrow at her.

"It's too silly for you."

He put his hand to his chest. "My dear sweet thing, it may amuse Rupert to call me 'Watcher', but _please_ tell me you're not confusing me with those hollow men and women with their dried voices and heads stuffed with straw?"

"Nah. You're more...." Megan tilted her head as she studied him, "the world-weary, been everywhere, seen everything and is impressed by very little type."

Ethan chuckled. He was impressed by her sudden forthrightness, if nothing else. "Very astute of you, dear." He punched in the security code for the door out to the carpark and held it open for her. "But I do, I can assure you, know how to have fun."

"With cotton candy?" Megan actually teased as she walked through the held door.

"I happen to like candy floss." Ethan laughed with very poorly acted outrage as he followed her out. "It reminds me a lot of chaos actu–" He stopped suddenly, having realised who was straight in front of them on the other side of the door.

It was a woman in her young thirties, trying hard to look older with her black hair severely pulled back into a tight bun and her trim body clothed in a conservative grey suit. Glasses she almost certainly didn't need hung on a chain around her neck.

"Why, hello there, Ms Travers," Ethan said, his face forming his most insincere smile. This woman was like Pamela double-barrelled distilled – the very essence of offensive conservative Watcher.

Francesca Travers managed to look down her nose at him, despite the fact that he was several inches taller. "Going somewhere, Mr. Rayne?"

"Yes, thank you," he replied, having no intention of telling her where.

"Weren't you supposed to be drilling your Slayer on spell components?" she asked, her tone implying that she wasn't really surprised to find him slacking.

"Oh dear." Ethan's mouth formed a moue. "Are you really finding life with the Council so dull that you need pay attention to my timetable? How truly awful for you. You have my deepest sympathy."

The woman's expression was beginning to resemble that of someone who smelled something particularly nasty. "The preparation of the Slayers is very much any Watcher's business. Of course I'm going to remain informed on anything that could risk that preparation."

Ethan's smile became sickly sweet. "That risk being me, of course. How charming of you to say so. Truly Daddy's wealth was well spent on that Swiss finishing school. Your manners are an example to us all."

If anything, her expression got even more pinched. "Where are you taking this young girl, Mr. Rayne?"

"Back to my bachelor pad, of course, to seduce and ruin the poor sweet thing." Ethan put his hand on Megan's back and encouraged her forwards. "And so, if you'll excuse us, we must be on our way. Debauchery, when performed correctly, can be rather time-consuming, and the corruption of the innocent is something I take very seriously indeed, Francesca. I can assure you of that."

"This isn't a joking matter," she told him sternly. "This child's development is a serious business, and you should be taking it thus."

Moving past the infuriating bitch, Ethan asked, "You thought I was joking? I'm flattered. Obviously you have more faith in my Watcherly ethics than you like to pretend. Good afternoon, Ms Travers. Do try not to rupture anything when you take the pole out from your tight little fundament, won't you?"

He and Megan walked off quickly, leaving Francesca with the option of chasing after them, which would be very undignified, or letting them go. As Ethan had expected, she chose the latter, the sound of her heels clicking as she walked away confirming that.

Megan glanced over her shoulder warily. "I don't like her."

Ethan pointed his electronic key fob at the Council car Rupert had allocated to him. "You and me both, sweetheart. She's dangerous."

"She looks at me, at all of the Slayers, like we're... things. Pets, maybe. Trained attack dogs." Megan shook her head. "She doesn't see _us_ at all."

He opened the passenger door for her. "You're just weapons to be used in a war to her; nothing much more than tools. You do know that Rupert and I think very differently, don't you?"

She gave him a sudden, dazzling, smile. "I know."

Warmed and delighted by the affirmation and the smile both, Ethan closed the door after Megan had settled in the seat, and walked around to the driver's side, frowning slightly at his reaction.

Shaking off the vague concern, he got into the car and started it up. "I want you to be very careful around that woman, Megan. And if she ever tries to get you to do something you don't want to do, don't be afraid to tell her to bugger off. Never forget that you're stronger than her and far more important in the scheme of things."

He played back his own words in his head, and not for the first time, wondered where the hell this vein of fatherly wisdom came from inside him. It certainly didn't arise from anything anyone had ever said to him as a child. Perhaps he'd watched too much American television back in the days before the Initiative cell.

"She isn't interested in me," Megan said, as she plugged in her seatbelt. "You don't talk to weapons after all. It's Giles she's got it in for."

"Yes, you're quite right," Ethan agreed, but then his eyes narrowed, and he turned to his charge. "Megan, have you heard or seen something specific that makes you say that?"

The girl nodded. "She was talking to some of the other Watchers who don't like Giles and said that she was going to get him out."

A heaviness settled in Ethan's gut. "Did she seem to have some specific method in mind?"

"Not that she mentioned when I was listening." Megan looked at him, with worried eyes. "But Giles can handle her, can't he?"

Ethan didn't answer as he drove the car out into the clogged London streets. He was thinking he shouldn't have let Rupert dissuade him from the Balshat Demon idea so easily.


	3. Chapter 3

Some things never changed, Giles mused, as he watched Kat mutter under her breath while she struggled with the pop quiz she'd been given. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was back in the old Sunnydale High library, tutoring Buffy.

"I don't even see why I need to know all this stuff," Kat grumbled. "I'm sure all this biology crap doesn't matter, so long as I know how make it dead."

Giles smiled as the resemblance grew even stronger. "All of this biology 'crap', as you call it, can help you figure out how to make it dead. Knowing all of this biology 'crap' can also forewarn about ways it can make _you_ dead. It can help you when you're trying to predict what it's going to do, or where it's going to be."

Kat frowned and went back to work. After about five minutes, she pushed the paper aside. "That's the best I can do. If you want me to learn this stuff, Giles, teaching it in the field would be a better idea." She stretched and yawned. "Can we go and work out now?"

"There's more to being a Slayer than just hitting things," Giles told her patiently, reaching for the paper she'd just discarded.

"Yeah, looks like," she replied glumly. "That first Watcher dude – the one with one eye? When he came and found me, told me what I was, he made it sound so cool. Didn't know it was gonna be just like school all over again. I've never been the best of students."

Giles squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "You're doing fine, Kat. All I ask is that you try your best, and you've been doing that. If some things don't come easily, well, that's what Ethan and I are here for – to help."

She grinned up cheekily at him. "You two are so cute together. Megan and I have really lucked out; everyone thinks so. We got the best Watchers, and we get to see them kiss."

"And that's a good thing?" Giles asked drily. That much was different from the old days in Sunnydale; back then, any mention of him and kissing in the same sentence had been more likely to elicit gagging noises than compliments.

"Course it's a good thing. It's so... British."

"Kissing is British?"

"Older men kissing kinda is..." She shrugged, smiling. "Don't mind me, I'm just mouthing off. I think you two are the greatest."

It was nice, Giles decided, to have someone complimenting him and Ethan together. Nice enough that it overwhelmed his innate embarrassment at having his personal life talked about. "Thank you," he said, squeezing her shoulder again. "We think you're pretty great as well."

"So great that I don't have to do any more demon biology today?" she asked hopefully, with a bright smile. A strand of electric blue hair fell down over her eyes, and she pushed it back up into the clip.

"Let me take a look at your answers and then we'll see," Giles said with a smile.

But he didn't get a chance to look beyond the first – happily quite correct – answer as the door to the room flew open without a warning knock. Francesca Travers stood in the doorway, sheer fury radiating from her taut figure in waves. Lord, this woman was becoming a pest. In his driest and most ironic of tones, he asked, "Is there something I can do for you, Francesca?"

She ignored Giles and said instead to Kat, "Run along to the assembly hall now, child. I'm sure they can find something useful for you to do there while I talk to your 'Watcher'." Her tone suggested she didn't really accept the title applied to Giles.

Kat looked up at him questioningly, clearly not prepared to obey the woman without his say-so.

"Go ahead, Kat," Giles said with a reassuring smile. "I'll come find you when I'm finished here."

She gave him a little smile and quickly packed her books away in her bag. Standing, Kat walked to the door, glaring defiantly at Francesca before she left.

Before the door had even shut, Francesca was striding over to Giles. "That gal has the manners of a hoyden. Our American cousins have lost all sense of decorum when educating their young."

"Funnily enough, I've found her perfectly pleasant," Giles replied. "Perhaps it's something about you in particular that's putting her off." Before she could answer, he asked once again, "What is it you want, Francesca?"

"To give you fair warning about your..." She wrinkled her nose, as if the next word was distasteful to her. "Boyfriend."

Alarm bells went off in Giles' mind, and he felt his expression grow cold and just a bit threatening. "What about Ethan?"

"I just caught him taking the skinny gal out somewhere without your supervision. When the Board permitted his employment as some kind of pseudo-Watcher, it was under the strict understanding that you would always be there to supervise."

"First off, the Board did not 'permit' his employment; I'm the head of the Council, and last time I checked, I was free to hire whatever help I desired. The Board does not then dictate to me how to use said employees, and if I want an employee to work with a Slayer directly, it's bloody well within my rights to have him do so." Giles kept his tone calm the entire time, although he let an edge of what Ethan would call his Ripper voice slide in.

Francesca was unimpressed, her Travers genes showing through. "These 'rights' will last only as long as you remain the Council Head, and if you continue to allow that homosexual criminal to wander at will around these offices and corrupt–"

Voice and manner becoming completely icy, Giles overrode her. "I would consider your words carefully, Ms Travers. If we're going to start bandying threats about people's positions, I would remind you that someone with twenty-five years experience – much of it in the field with an active Slayer – has far more influence in this situation than someone who flunked out of the Watchers Academy and has spent the time since showing off pretty clothes to bored rich women."

Voice equally frozen, Francesca answered through clearly gritted teeth. "I did _not_ 'flunk' out of the Academy. I passed every exam at the top of my class."

"Yet you weren't offered a position. And your father the Head of the Council at the time. Makes one wonder – what lack did Quentin see in you that made him decide not to employ you."

Her face shut down completely. "I will not discuss my father with you, Mr Giles. I congratulate you on your diversionary tactic; it almost succeeded. Unfortunately for you, I am made of sterner stuff than your previous opponents might have been."

She stepped closer to Giles and looked him directly in the eyes as she added, "Your distasteful choice in lovers was talking to the child about Chaos and refused to tell me where he was taking her. That is unless I believe the rubbish he spouted about seduction and debauchery, which for your sake you'd better hope I don't. I intend to bring this up at tomorrow's meeting."

Giles was pleased to find that not a fraction of a second of doubt passed through his mind about Ethan. He trusted his lover and was quite satisfied to find that trust held up under pressure. Letting some of his satisfaction bleed through, knowing it would only rile the impossible woman in front of him all the more, Giles told her, "Ethan was well within his rights to refuse to talk to you. Like it or not, Francesca, you are just another Watcher. You're not in charge here, and you have no authority to demand obedience from any others. The sooner you let that fact sink in, the easier your life will become."

"That _reprobate_ is not a Watcher," she asserted fiercely. "He has neither the training nor the breeding. He is a dangerous sorcerer, a sodomite, and a known criminal. No court in this land would consider him a suitable guardian for children. You were out of the country a long time, Mr Giles, and you may not realise how certain laws have changed here, but I've made it my business to find out."

It had been said like a threat, and her posture as she turned to leave, was triumphant.

Giles called out after her. "If you've made it your business to find out, Ms Travers, then you should also have discovered that Ethan is not someone you want for an enemy." He dropped all civility from his voice. "Neither am I."

If her face showed a reaction, Giles didn't see it as she simply walked out the door and closed it behind her.

***

The Eye never stopped moving, constantly turning all day, everyday, perpetually in motion like the river below. At least, that was what the brochure romantically claimed, but Ethan felt sure it was stopped at least occasionally for maintenance. The rotation was very sedate, however, and it was easy enough for Ethan and Megan to enter the capsule as it passed the landing stage.

Inside the glass egg, they settled into the seats and watched in silence for a little while as it slowly lifted them upwards. Despite himself, Ethan was impressed with the engineering involved in the huge 'attraction'. Megan was quite right, not much got through his jaded defences, but since Rupert had returned to him, Ethan had found he was more able to see the magic in the non-magical again.

As they were lifted above the tops of the nearest buildings, Ethan commented, "Lots of succulent symbolism here."

Megan tore her gaze away from the panorama to look at him. "Such as...?" she asked, a smile seeming to hover just out of view on her lips.

Ethan grinned at her. "Us, rising above it all." He gestured down at the glass floor, through which, actually, they couldn't yet see much more than the Thames, but his point was made. "Whenever people try to pull you down, Megan, I want you to remember this. You're above all of that, all of them. You don't need to wear their chains and anchors."

Megan's gaze drifted back to straight ahead, her expression turning thoughtful. "Wish it was as easy as that," she said softly.

"Sometimes acting like it's so is almost as good as it being so," Ethan suggested tentatively, wondering how much of what he was saying was genuinely good advice to give to a child. "If you build up the illusion well enough, after a while, not even you can tell it's not real."

"But wouldn't you spend all your time worrying that someone might see through the illusion?" Megan asked with a frown. She turned back to him, even reaching out to touch his arm. "I'm not trying to be difficult, really I'm not, but..."

The child was wiser than he. Shamed, Ethan shivered under her touch, but reached with his other hand to hold hers to his arm briefly before releasing her. "Megan," he started, looking down. "I know I've been told to be your teacher, but when we talk like this, it's probably best to see me more as a somewhat fallible friend. I've lived a life full of... full of things I never want you to experience. I am most assuredly not a good person to be taking advice from."

"Giles doesn't think that," Megan told him, surprising him with the fierceness she was suddenly showing. "Neither do I. You _listen_ to me, to what I say, and even what I can't say. You tell me things that make me think, instead of... of wallowing."

He smiled uneasily at her, not knowing quite what to say in reply. It was worrying enough that Rupert believed in him. That Megan did too... How could this possibly end well? Feeling unpleasantly emotional, Ethan spent the next few minutes pointing out London landmarks and telling mildly outrageous stories connected to them, making Megan giggle.

When he felt calmer, Ethan said quietly, "Never forget that questions are to be asked. We're all learning; the process never stops. Those who close their minds to the new are dead inside." He smiled a little wickedly. "Grey-men, aparachiks, faceless bureaucrats – hide-bound and tradition-beholden. We wouldn't want to be like that, would we?"

"Is that what happened to people like Ms Travers?" Megan asked curiously. "She stopped asking questions?"

Ethan nodded approvingly. "She thinks she knows all the answers. Or rather she thinks her dead father did. I'd feel sorry for her if I were a nicer man. But I'm not, of course, and would happily transform the bitch into something that simply wouldn't look right in those prim Prada pumps. And I never said that to you, by the way." He winked at the Slayer.

"Said what?" Megan asked with an air of innocence only ruined by the sudden mischief in her eyes. Then she asked curiously, "Could you really do that?"

"Yes," Ethan acknowledged simply. They were nearly at the top of the wheel now and the view of London really was pretty amazing. It made him feel a little sentimental about this old town of his.

"Like in all those old fairy tales? Where the evil witch or whatever turns the hero into a frog or swan or something?"

"Now there we see a twisted propaganda. I prefer to see it more as the handsome mage deservedly transforming the nasty villain into something a little more fitting to their personality."

Megan thought about that for a moment, looking out at the city below as she did. "What would you change me into then?" she asked finally. "To be more fitting of my personality?"

Ethan chuckled. "You're fine just as you are, my dear. But if I was going to anyway? Hmm, something with wings. If I hadn't seen you fight, I'd say the swan you mentioned, but as I have... an owl, I think. Like Blodeuwedd."

"An owl," Megan said, as if testing out the idea. A slow smile grew on her face. "I like that."

"I'm glad," he grinned fondly at her. "Just don't ask me to do it for real. Rupert would have interesting and rather smelly new garters."

She giggled, the sound just as welcome now as the first time he'd made her laugh. "What about Giles? What would you change him into?"

"Ah." Ethan grimaced and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm glad you asked that while Rupert isn't around. It's a bit of a sore subject I'm afraid." They were descending slowly now, and swivelling in their seats, they viewed another set of famous landmarks.

"Why?" Megan asked curiously.

He rubbed his face. This was difficult. "I, um, believe I may have mentioned a few vague somethings about my dark past?"

"Very vague."

"That's for your protection, believe me. Well, I once turned Rupert into a Fyarl demon. He wasn't very forgiving about it."

Megan frowned. "So you thought a big stupid demon that likes to thump things was more fitting of Giles' personality?"

"Erm, in this particular case, it was more an ironic statement. I'm quite sure I shouldn't be telling you any of this, you know. I'm a shamefully bad Watcher..." He brightened, chuckling. "Which is encouraging, I must say."

"You're a very good Watcher," Megan protested fiercely.

"It's very sweet of you to think so, my dear." And really, as Megan, Kat and Rupert were the only people whose opinion mattered to Ethan, he supposed he should change his self-assessment, but he just couldn't think of himself as a Watcher without cringing inside. It was wrong, unnatural, like pretending to be straight. Nothing about Ethan was straight-lined.

He sighed and said, "If I am, it's purely because I have a wonderful Slayer... pair of Slayers. You make it easy on a wicked old man to go, ah, straight."

Megan grinned and impulsively hugged him. Dazed by her action, Ethan patted her back a little helplessly. Pulling away, Megan gave him a dazzling smile. "What would you be?" she asked suddenly. "That fits your personality?"

"A fox," he said immediately; it wasn't something that required consideration. "Or a Nogitsune – that's a kind of fox demon. You've not met them in your studies yet."

"Is that like a kitsune?" Megan asked. At his look she explained, "They were characters in a novel I read."

"It's a type of Kitsune, yes. The, hmm, fun type." His eyes twinkled at her as his mouth pursed. "They're the wild foxes, masterless, the ronin of the Kitsune, you might say."

"Ah." She nodded knowingly. "The chaotic ones."

They were approaching the end of their ride, and Ethan felt strangely saddened. "Yes, chaotic," he agreed a little glumly. "That's me." Brightening again, for Megan's sake, he added, "Now I believe I promised us both some candy floss. Let's take a walk along the South Bank and see what we can find."

"All right." As they were waiting at the door for it to be time to disembark, she said, "Thank you for this. I... You make me feel like I'm not a waste of space."

After they had left the Eye and separated from the crowds somewhat, Ethan turned to Megan, grasping her shoulders gently. "I've told you, I'm not a very nice person. I care about very little in this world. Until recently, there was only room for Rupert and myself in my heart, but now I've made a little more space inside the cold old thing. Don't you ever dare suggest that it's wasted."

Squeezing her shoulders, he then offered his arm, and together they promenaded along the Thames, searching for sweet spun chaos on a stick.

***

"So where did you and Megan sneak off to, today?" Rupert asked, as he manoeuvred the car through crawling rush hour traffic. They were finally on their way home for the weekend.

Ethan manfully resisted the impulse to claim he'd used Megan as the virgin sacrifice in the Ritual of Maelifici Corpus and answered honestly. "We played tourist for the afternoon and rode the London Eye among other things. London's changed a lot since our heyday, old chum."

He saw Rupert's eyebrows rise. "Should I be asking why?"

"I changed the lesson plan for the day after something she said. Do you mind?"

Rupert shook his head gratifyingly fast. "I trust you. You've been doing a wonderful job." He took a deep breath. "Of course, there's others who have different opinions."

"Let me guess," Ethan said sourly, "you had an encounter with the snow queen."

"You know, that's a far more polite name than I would have predicted," Rupert said, with a sardonic, sideways glance.

"I've been made mellow by my rather pleasant afternoon. Believe me, if you'd caught me earlier and asked the same question..." He left it to Rupert's imagination. "So what capital crimes have I been accused of? Treason to queen and country?"

"Corrupting a minor," Rupert replied, then added thoughtfully, "and quite possibly cheating on me."

Ethan slipped his hand over the gap between the seats and placed it on Rupert's thigh. "And me as bent as the proverbial nine-bob," he chuckled, but then sobered quickly. "That woman won't rest until the Council's hers, you know."

"I know." Rupert's lips grew thin as he pressed them together in a grimace. "She implied as much, threatened to try and have the Board remove me, using you as a reason."

Ethan was silent for a while, confused by contradictory impulses. His first reaction had been to offer to leave the Council and stop trying to be what everyone knew he was not. Only that, of course, would mean giving up his contact with the two Slayers. And Megan, in particular, he'd grown... attached to. He could only assume the feelings were atrophied parenting instincts come to life after all these years, and they disturbed him with their strangeness, but he really didn't want to give Megan up.

"She's welcome to try," Rupert continued. "There are some of the old school still around, but even they have had it quite vividly demonstrated to them that sometimes the unorthodox is the most successful approach."

"Rupert," Ethan said quietly, his hand twitching slightly on his lover's leg. "I really don't want to be the weapon they use against you."

Rupert dropped one hand from the steering wheel to cover Ethan's. "Everything and everyone in my life is a potential weapon against me. Having you here is worth the risk."

"She called me that today – a risk, to the Slayers."

The grip on his hand tightened. "You know me, Ethan. Would I have let you anywhere near them if I believed that?"

Ethan thought that Rupert, Megan as well, had far more faith in him than he deserved, but he couldn't find a way to say this that didn't sound self-pitying, so instead he said, "I really think I made a breakthrough with Megan today, or perhaps she made one with me." He smiled across at Rupert.

"Oh?" Rupert smiled back at him. "A breakthrough you feel like sharing?"

"Well," Ethan started slowly. "I think I may have gone a little way towards convincing her that she isn't the waste of space that her darling mother would have her believe she is."

He watched as Rupert's posture stiffened slightly before it relaxed, and Rupert let out a long slow sigh. "I'd suspected something of the sort in her past. The report Xander sent hinted..." He glanced over at Ethan. "She talked to you about this?"

"To a degree. Enough to know that nothing she ever does pleases her mother, and that she's been made to believe she's worthless."

"That's a significant breakthrough. It shows how much she trusts you."

Too much. Far too much. "I owe her candy floss; we couldn't find any. I'm thinking about a trip to the beach next. Maybe all four of us could go?"

Rupert pulled to a stop in their regular parking spot in front of their house, switched off the engine, and turned to look at Ethan with the strangest expression on his face.

"What?" Ethan asked uneasily.

The strange look relaxed into an affectionate smile. "I never thought I'd see the day that you'd be suggesting outings that don't involve getting into trouble of some kind."

"You've obviously never been to Southend on a bank holiday," Ethan replied, folding his arms. He disguised his unease about the changes in himself, and whether they were real or not, by putting on a pretence of an offended sulk.

Rupert leaned over and kissed Ethan. "It's disconcerting at first, isn't it?" he murmured. "To find yourself suddenly acting almost like a father."

That was far too close to the truth. "Rupert," Ethan started nervously, looking down. He licked his suddenly dry lips. "I... Oh Bugger. Let's go in." He opened the door and got out of the car. Giles followed Ethan inside the house, staying silent, waiting for Ethan to speak. Once the door was shut, Ethan turned and pressed himself into Rupert's arms, silently begging for comfort.

Rupert immediately responded by enfolding him in a tight embrace. "What is it?" he asked Ethan softly.

As seemed to be common these days, Ethan wanted to open up, but he couldn't find the words to explain how he felt. "I... I... She's been hurt enough," he said eventually. "She deserves... I can't... Oh hell!" He pulled away from Rupert, turning to the side, but he didn't walk away. He pushed his hand through his hair and sighed. "I'm sorry," he said cynically. "Apparently I lose all ability to verbalise whenever I have something important to say."

Rupert reached out and laid a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "You're doing fine. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

And then, very simply, the words just fell from his mouth, in an almost casual tone. "I'm going to let her down. I'm going to let you down. You are both wilfully blind to the real me, and I'm going to hurt you."

Rupert's arms closed around him again, this time from behind, pulling him close. "We'll both make mistakes, but that doesn't mean you're letting me down. It just means we're human."

Rupert didn't understand, but really, Ethan couldn't expect him to. Only Ethan himself knew how strong the pull of Chaos was inside him. It wasn't just the magic; it was him. He'd do something rebellious, say the wrong thing to the wrong person, or let his magic out at the wrong time, and then it would all be over. Tears before bedtime.

Sighing, he undid Rupert's arms from around him, and headed for the kitchen. "I'll put the kettle on. Perhaps we can share the exquisite pleasure of going through next week's schedule together."

"No one ever told you, did they?"

Standing in the kitchen doorway, Ethan turned a confused face to Rupert. "Told me what?"

"When you were young. No one told you that you weren't a waste of space."

Ethan froze momentarily then wrapped his arms around himself. "You did."

Rupert crossed the room over to him, and reached out a hand to caress his cheek. "I wish I'd met you earlier. I wish I hadn't..." He sighed, what looked like true sorrow in his eyes. "You're not a waste of space. You've never been. You're... you're..."

Rupert could still rip Ethan open; he just used words now as his scalpel, instead of sex, drugs and dodgy magic. Staring at Rupert with wide-opened eyes and moving closer, but not yet close enough, Ethan asked, "What? What am I?" He needed desperately to know.

"I can list all your many attributes – and I will if you want me to – but simply put, you're my heart."

"Do you take a particular pleasure in my discomposure, Rupert?" Ethan asked shakily, smiling contortedly. He felt... sorrow, grief, and that surely wasn't the right reaction to such words.

"I take a particular pleasure in your presence," Rupert replied, watching Ethan closely. "Maybe I should give you that list."

"Oh good God, please don't." Ethan all but begged; he turned away, started to say something, turned again and moved back into Rupert's arms, clinging tightly. He knew he was trembling.

"Why not?" Rupert asked softly, enfolding Ethan in a warm embrace.

"It's too much." Ethan's voice was muffled against Rupert's jacket. "I'm not... not any of those things. Don't need to hear them to know that I can't live up to them."

"What exactly do you think I'm going to tell you?" There was a slight edge of fond humour to Rupert's voice, the warmth in it a match for the arms holding him.

"Things you imagine you see in me. Illusions." Ethan pulled back a little to meet Rupert's eyes. "Megan said today that if you live an illusion, you live in fear of reality... well, she used different words, but that's what the wise-before-her-time little thing meant."

Rupert traced a finger along Ethan's cheekbone. "I've seen you without the masks," he reminded. "I'm in love with the reality of Ethan, not the illusion."

Ethan shook his head; he just couldn't accept that. "I don't even know if there is a real me under all the glamours I've fabricated over the years. I'm just layers and layers of fancy wrapping paper with nothing at the core." Nothing he wanted to meet anyway.

"Oh, there's something there," Rupert insisted, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. "It shines through regardless of how many layers you wear."

Staring into Rupert's eyes, Ethan noticed that he could see himself reflected in them, and like so much else today, that fact of basic physics seemed loaded with significant symbolism. A chaos mage learns early to read signs and omens, to see the numinous in the coincidental, the messages in the natural chaos of the world. His denial had been pointless; he knew Rupert knew his soul and probably far better than Ethan himself did.

And perhaps that was the problem here.

"Teach me?" he asked, still staring into the green-grey eyes.

Rupert stared at him for a long second after the question then kissed him, with a depth of emotion that left Ethan breathless. "I'll teach you," he murmured, voice husky. "Whatever you need."


	4. Chapter 4

_ **Then...** _

"I can't do this any more." The words slipped out without conscious volition. Staring at Randall's grave, the emotion had welled up until Ripper couldn't keep it contained any longer.

Ethan shrugged beside him. The boy had been fidgeting impatiently for a while, probably not liking the damp chill in the air. As usual, he didn't have enough clothes on. "Let's go home then."

Ripper didn't move; he felt glued to the spot, lingering horror, grief, and exhaustion holding him there. "I can't."

Ethan's hand appeared on Ripper's shoulder. "Yes, you can," he said encouragingly. "The mud's not so deep we're stuck in it." He chuckled softly. "I'll drive if you like. Come on, we can curl up in front of the fire and drown our sorrows in booze and magic."

The very thought of playing with magic made his stomach churn. "No."

He felt Ethan's hand drop. "What's going on here, Ripper?" Ethan's voice was becoming guarded.

"What's going on?" Ripper laughed, the sound holding absolutely no humour, being more than half-hysterical. "Randall's _dead_, Ethan. We killed him. _That's_ what going on."

"Really." The single word dripped with sarcasm.

Ripper turned and looked disbelievingly at Ethan. "Don't you feel anything?"

Ethan's eyes flickered with some emotion quickly hidden. He wrapped his arms around himself, the wet material of his shirt clinging to his slender frame. His make up –which he'd insisted on applying regardless of Ripper's wishes, making them late for the service– was smudged and running, giving Ethan the look of a waxworks figure stored too close to the radiator.

Unlike everything else around the cemetery, Ethan's tone was dry when he spoke. "What I feel is confused. Confused about why you've decided to play Catholic martyr about the poor bugger's death. We all knew the risks. I'm sorry he's dead, really I am. I'll miss him. Time to move on and learn from his... weakness."

"His weakness?" There came that laugh again, sounding ever more hysterical to Ripper's own ears. "All of our weakness, you mean. God, we've been so... foolhardy. Playing with things we can't hope to control. If we hadn't stopped Randall, it would have been more than just us who would've paid. We almost released Eyghon onto the world. Aren't there enough demons out there already without our... hubris adding to it?" He knew he wasn't talking in a linear, sane fashion anymore, but he couldn't stop himself, the thoughts tumbling from him as soon as they ran through his mind.

"Eyghon's gone. Dealt with. You're overwrought and overreacting. Let's go home before we sink so far into the mud that we really can't get out." The peevish was starting to overwhelm the sardonic in Ethan's voice.

"Yes, have to get out before it's too late. If it's not already." Ripper ran his hands through his hair in distress. "Feel like I'm going down for the third time; don't know if I can find the surface again."

There was an exasperated sigh from Ethan, but then the hand was back, this time on Ripper's arm, tugging gently. "Come on. Something's clearly addled your brains, my dear. I'm taking you home _now_."

Ripper shook his head, pulling his arm from Ethan's grasp. "No. Can't go back, can't do this anymore. Have to stop." He took a deep shaky breath. "Have to atone, have to..." He looked at Ethan. "The rules are necessary. We were wrong to ignore them. I shouldn't have broke–"

He could see the moment his meaning finally hit Ethan. Both the boy's composure and his body were jolted by the knowledge. Ethan took a step back and almost slipped over in the mud. His staring gaze was fixed to Ripper's. "You can't be serious."

Ripper met Ethan's eyes sadly. "I can't do this anymore," he said again, couldn't seem to stop saying it. "I can't go on like we were, waiting for the next time it all goes wrong, wondering if it's going to be Deirdre or Philip or _you_ I'll be mourning next. This has to stop."

"It wasn't my fault," Ethan said defensively, clearly upset, his arms folded about himself again. "Don't punish me for this."

"This isn't about punishment. It's about survival. This can't continue, Ethan."

Ethan shook his head frantically, taking further steps back. "Stop it. Don't do this. I can't..."

"Can't what?" Ripper demanded. "Can't give up Chaos? Are you going to sacrifice us all on its altar?"

Ethan's face contorted with emotion. "It wasn't my bloody fault, Ripper! He knew what he was getting into. All I did... All I did was... Don't... You can't..."

"I can't do this anymore!" Ripper yelled, all his pain and guilt making his voice sharp. "It has to stop with this, with Randall. It can't –_we_ can't – continue to-"

"Liar!" Ethan all but screamed over the top of him. "You lied to me! Just fuck off then. Fuck off and see if I care. Me and Chaos, we'll do alright. She'll look after me." He whirled around, falling onto his hands and knees in the mud, and then scrambled up and ran.

"Ethan!" Ripper called after him, but it was no use.

Ethan was gone.

***

_ **Now...** _

"We've got an hour before we have to leave," Ethan said, his eyes glinting with that wickedness Giles knew so well. "Whatever can we do in that time?" He prowled over to where Giles was sitting on the couch, going through some papers.

The paperwork was by far the part of the job that Giles liked the least, so he was quite happy to let Ethan distract him from it. "Sounds to me like you have something in mind."

"I have _someone_ in mind," Ethan corrected, pushing Giles gently back into the sofa with a hand on his shoulder. Ethan paused, apparently to check Giles' reaction, then smiled, bending over to kiss him.

Giles quickly moved his papers aside then reached up and slid his arms around Ethan's body, pulling him down onto his lap as they continued kissing. Ethan's mouth was soft and yielding. One of his hands was in Giles hair, holding him gently; the other busied itself removing Giles' glasses.

This wasn't unusual behaviour for Ethan these days, particularly since the talk a few weeks ago concerning Ethan's fear of failure and letting people down. He'd been attentive and affectionate not only to Giles, but to their two Slayer charges as well – although in totally different ways, of course. The talk had changed Giles' attitude too, making him more aware of Ethan's insecurities. He'd done his best since then to counteract them, with words, touches, whatever he could do.

Ethan pulled back a fraction, to lick and nibble at Giles' lips. He paused to chuckle and say, "You taste of those awful Council custard creams," then deepened the kiss again.

"Keep kissing me like that and all I'm going to taste like is you," Giles murmured with a smile when Ethan next pulled back. The thought appealed, and he leant in to kiss Ethan again. The kiss, almost by itself, intensified and hardened. Giles' face was held between two warm hands as Ethan's tongue flirted with his own, inviting it to venture into the Ethan's mouth.

Giles took the invitation, deepening the kiss further and exploring Ethan's mouth with his tongue. He was struck by the similarity of their position to the one in which they'd found themselves on that first day Ethan had been strong enough in his convalescence to get out of bed.

Ethan was certainly very different now: back to his normal weight, his hair restored and carefully tended, and the look of chronic pain gone almost entirely from his dark eyes.

Moving on Giles' lap, Ethan twisted and shifted one leg across, until he was straddling Giles. He squirmed about with that graceful, dance-like movement that had always been a part of who he was, and he was very obviously aroused. Sucking gently on Giles' tongue, Ethan dropped his hands down, and Giles felt deft fingers start to pluck at his nipples through the cotton of his shirt.

Giles made a sound of pleasure, sliding his hands down Ethan's back to cup his buttocks and pull him closer. He wanted to feel Ethan move against him, wanted to feel all that graceful energy and know that he was being allowed to contain it. "More," he murmured encouragingly against Ethan's lips.

Moaning quietly into the kiss, Ethan struggled to lift Giles' shirt. "Less," he murmured, and Giles could feel Ethan's lips smile against his.

"Always have to be bloody contrary," Giles teased fondly, smiling as he pulled back enough for Ethan to remove his shirt.

"Sometimes less is more," Ethan insisted, dropping the shirt to the floor and then stroking Giles' chest with firm, flat hands.

Giles wrapped a hand around the back of Ethan's neck and pulled him in for another passionate kiss. "You've always been far too good at this," he muttered into Ethan's mouth.

"Is this really something one can be _too_ good at?" Ethan asked, pulling back and raising an eyebrow. One by one, with maddening slowness, he undid the buttons of his shirt while Giles watched.

"Perhaps not," Giles admitted, never taking his eyes off Ethan. "You do realise that we only have an hour?"

"More like forty-five minutes now." Ethan grinned. He pulled the shirt from his arms and let it drop to the floor. "Would you care for a faster pace then?"

"Unless you want to explain to the girls why we're late."

Still grinning, Ethan wriggled back then lowered himself off the couch to kneel between it and the coffee table. With a hand on each of Giles' knees, he parted them and moved between, meeting Giles' gaze and licking his lips. "I believe I can oblige."

A surge of arousal went through Giles at the sight of Ethan kneeling there. He reached down to run fingers through Ethan's hair. "Then do," he said with a challenging smile.

Eyes closing, Ethan bent and pressed his lips to the tented fabric of Giles' jeans, donned ready for patrolling with the girls tonight. The action had the manner of religious devotion, and when Ethan looked up again, his expression was solemn. His hands deftly undid the jeans, slipped inside, and gently tugged Giles' cock out. With thumb and forefinger, he pushed down the foreskin. Again, his eyes closed, Ethan bent to kiss the taut head as if making obeisance to a sacred icon.

It took Giles' breath away, as much for the reverence shown as the actual touch. To get a glimpse of how much Ethan valued him, it was... overwhelming. "I love you," he blurted, needing to say the words.

Ethan's eyes flashed up to meet his, and he nodded, almost imperceptibly, before licking the head of Giles' cock with a long, wet tongue, then taking it inside his mouth.

Oh, this was bliss. Ethan had always been amazing at this, but the added emotion behind it, knowing what they'd had and lost and were discovering again, were beginning to trust in again, it created an extra depth that even memories from the best of the old days couldn't match.

Ethan's head dipped and rose as marvellous sensations filled Giles, tugging at his groin and hardening his cock further. A firm tongue pushed his length first up into the unyielding hard palate, and then back into the soft heat of Ethan's throat. Giles' hands gripped the sofa's material, straining to continue to hold still, to keep himself from grabbing Ethan's head to hold _him_ still while Giles fucked his lover's mouth.

Long fingers curled around Giles' balls, kneading gently, and the movements of Ethan's head sped up, the suction making the tug of his lips around Giles' cock just the right side of too much. Then there was a very deliberate if careful scrape of teeth going down his entire length. It pulled a wordless cry from Giles, and he bucked up in reaction. That one touch was almost enough to send him over.

Chuckling around his mouthful, Ethan paused, halfway down, apparently waiting for Giles' eyes to meet his. For when they did, he began his movements again with renewed intensity, keeping their gazes locked. His expression, as much as it could under the circumstances, held a hint of wicked challenge as he began to hum, and Giles recognised the opening notes of _Born to be Wild_.

It was a singular experience to be laughing uncontrollably at the same time that one was coming. Trust Ethan to give him that experience.

Sitting back on his heels and licking his lips, Ethan grinned at Giles. "Feeling nicely obliged now?"

"I think you blew the top of my head off," Giles replied drily as he slumped against the backrest of the sofa and looked down at Ethan.

With his hands braced on Giles' legs, Ethan rose to his feet, wincing as his knees cracked. "Never used to do that," he said wryly, and then settled on the sofa beside Giles.

"Blow my head off or crack your knees?" Giles reached out and pulled him closer.

"The latter," Ethan replied, snuggling up. "We're old men, my dear. When did that happen?"

"We're not old. We're just... experienced." Ethan's fingers were dancing over Giles, playing with his chest hair. Giles, in turn, let his fingers wander lightly over Ethan's back, tracing up and down his spine lazily.

This kind of moment, this kind of contentment, was new. Something that they'd only discovered since they had found each other again. In the bad old days, there had been a certain undertow of restlessness to even their quietest moments – Ethan always looking ahead to the next challenge, the next sensation, and Giles himself not far behind. Now, they could just be with each other like this, content that being together was enough, without their minds always running to get away from such closeness.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Oh, no need for thanks," Ethan chuckled, his breath warm against the side of Giles' face. "I'm letting you build up a nice juicy level of debt, which I intend to call in, with substantial interest, later tonight."

"At least you're giving me time to prepare." Giles turned his head to meet Ethan's gaze, brushing the back of one hand against his cheek. "And I wasn't just thanking you for the blowjob," he said softly. Ethan's eyebrows raised questioningly before he moved closer and peppered very soft kisses onto Giles' lips. Giles smiled under the attention. "This," he murmured between kisses. "This is what I'm thanking you for. You being here, giving us a chance for... well, this kind of moment."

Ethan pulled back enough to meet Giles' eyes again. "Where else would I be, Rupert? Given a choice, I mean."

"I don't take it for granted. I don't take anything for granted."

Frowning a little, Ethan cupped Giles' cheek with his hand, running the edge of his thumb over Giles' lips. "I promise I'm not going anywhere... well, apart from on patrol with you and the girls very shortly." He grinned.

Giles hadn't been asking for reassurance, just expressing wonder and gratitude for what they did have, but Ethan's promise warmed him all the same. He kissed Ethan, long and lingeringly. It wasn't long before he could feel Ethan start to respond with heat they regrettably didn't have time for. Pulling back, he gave an apologetic smile. "When we get back," he promised, brushing a finger along Ethan's lips.

With obvious reluctance, Ethan detached himself from Giles and picked their shirts up from the floor. After handing Giles his, Ethan donned his own again and began to button it up. "Where are we going to take them tonight?"

"There've been reports of disappearances down around Canary Wharf," Giles said as he pulled his top back on.

Ethan stood and tucked his shirt back into his trousers. "There's a place that's changed a great deal from the days London was our playground. The South Bank is pretty unrecognisable too. I felt like a tourist when I took Megan there."

Giles knew the feeling, had experienced it himself more than once since he'd come back. "Almost makes it more startling to find something that hasn't changed."

"Such as?" Ethan asked, as he fetched their coats from the rack.

"Dimitri's, for one," Giles said, heading over to his chest of weapons and pulling out the ones they'd be carrying on the patrol that night.

"He's still there? My God, Ripper." Ethan was clearly taking a promenade down memory lane.

"It's run by old Dimitri's son now, but the shop's in the same place," Giles confirmed. "Food still tastes the same too." He smiled a little remembering that first night with Ethan. "Still has that Turkish coffee you like as well."

Ethan was giving him a very strange look, but eventually he turned for the door. There was something a little husky about his voice when he said, "I'm claiming payment in full when we get back, Rupert. Fair warning."

Doing his best to ignore how his body reacted to those words, Giles followed Ethan out. "So you don't want to stop for coffee first?"

***

The pyramid-topped Canary Wharf tower dominated their surroundings. It was, apparently, the tallest building in Britain, and Ethan wasn't going to argue with that claim. The whole of the wharf was rather like a trimmed down version of the Island of Manhattan, all reflective glass and sheer high-tech surfaces. The sun was just setting this fine August evening, and the reddening light glinted all about the buildings.

"This was one of the key locations in a huge millennium plot, you know," he said casually. "Of the Illuminated Ones. It failed, of course. Chao ab Ordo." He deliberately mutilated the Masonic motto.

Kat snorted. "You sound like someone off the X-Files when you start talking like that."

"Oh, well, I do have a few things in common with the dashing Mr Mulder." He winked at Megan, knowing she'd understand the vulpine reference, and indeed, she giggled. "That would make you, what was her name? - Scully, Rupert." He grinned cheekily over at his lover.

"So you're casting me in the role of the skeptic?" Giles asked drily.

"The obedient minion of order led astray by the chaotic Fox? I didn't see many episodes before... well, there wasn't much television where I was for a few years. I confess I'm guessing a little here."

His years in the cell were fading from his conscious memory now as if his synapses couldn't wait to lose the trauma. But he knew it was all still there underneath. Even now, occasionally, he still dreamt of it. It really hadn't been that long since his rescue, actually. Not in terms of days spent at liberty. It just seemed like he was a different person in a different world now.

And in a way, he was.

A hand touched his arm, tugging him from his reverie, and he was a little surprised to see Megan rather than Rupert providing the gesture of comfort. He smiled reassuringly at her and patted her hand. The girls had never been told about his incarceration and rescue, at least not by Ethan, but that didn't mean the enterprising little minxes couldn't have found out by themselves. There was sympathy in her eyes, and it touched him.

Swallowing back the embarrassing sentimentality that an old cynic such as himself simply was not meant to feel, Ethan addressed both the Slayers. "So, girls. I believe it's my turn to make the inspiring pre-patrol speech. Hmm... If you see a vampire, stake it." He grinned at the pair.

"There have been increasing reports of people being attacked or going missing from this area," Rupert put in. "The attacks seem to be consistent with vampires, but don't get complacent."

Ethan nodded, his expression now more serious. "And stay close."

They started walking across a wide plaza towards hopefully quieter areas of the Wharf. It was early, and plenty of financial types were milling about the place still. But it had been this time of day, dusk, when the attacks had happened previously, which was why they were here now.

The Slayers walked ahead, their postures alert and ready. Although their weapons were by necessity hidden, Ethan felt confident, having seen them train, that this wouldn't prove too much of a problem should trouble raise its ugly head.

Walking alongside Rupert, but with his gaze on the girls, he commented quietly, "On the theme of television, am I the only one feeling a trifle Addams family about the four of us?"

Rupert glanced sideways at him. "You can be Morticia."

"I could never walk in those dresses of hers," Ethan giggled. "But if you want to kiss my arm and court me with romance languages, go ahead."

They strolled through a short walkway to a smaller square filled with planters and raised beds overflowing with late summer flowers. A man, with an electric trolley and a hose on a stick, was watering some hanging baskets. The Slayers paused, taking in the new locale as they'd been taught, and then, without apparently discussing it, split up, Kat taking the right wall of the square and Megan the left.

"They really are quite good," Rupert observed with a hint of pride as they watched the girls' progress across the square.

"Not that I have anything to compare them to, but yes, I think so."

"So which of them would be Wednesday?"

"I think the analogy is going to fall down if we take it much further," Ethan replied, somewhat distractedly. There was something in the air, like the build up of pressure before an electrical storm. "Do you feel that?"

"Yes." Giles raised his head as if scenting the air. "Can't tell where it's coming from though."

Ethan raised his head to call to the girls in warning, but it was too late, as dark clad figures emerged from the shadows into the well-lit square, crowding in front of Kat. Instantly, Kat and Megan both moved, getting the newcomers between them, both of them falling into fighting stances.

Beside him, Ethan could feel Rupert tense and reach for the short sword he'd hidden under his jacket, but they held back, waiting to see how the girls handled the situation. The two men were close enough to charge if things got out of control. Ethan grimaced, his fingers twitching with the urge to use magic. "Well, isn't this fun."

There were five vampires in total – judging by the mix of human and demonic faces on show, vampires were indeed what they were facing. Kat took one out immediately with a well-aimed crossbow bolt, much to the disgust of the female along side it, who paused her attack to brush her clothes free of his dust. Her dust was co-mingling with his a second later, as Kat took advantage of the vamp's distraction in order to stake her.

Meanwhile, Megan had apparently turned into a whirling dervish, attacking the other side of the group, and another was dusted before they truly registered her presence.

"Well, at least this shouldn't take long," Ethan commented drily, but then the prickling on the back of his neck grew worse. "Rupert," he said nervously, looking about the plaza. "There's something..."

Megan screamed.

Ethan whipped his head back around to see the last vampire with Megan's stake buried in his chest and the vampire's hand seemingly buried _in_ Megan's side. Despite having a stake through his heart, the vampire was showing no signs of dissolving into dust.

The reason why became apparent a split second later, as the vampire's form wavered and shimmered, like a mirage in a desert sun, before fading. The demon now revealed wasn't remotely humanoid, looking like a cross between something from Lovecraft and a bad Doctor Who monster.

It had a large, unblinking eye, the colour of ichor and blood, in the approximate place where a human's head would have been. Its body was a mass of thin and sickly green tentacles, each of which ended in a sharp and deadly looking stinger.

One of which was buried in Megan's side.

As Ethan watched, frozen in appalled horror, the Slayer's body jerked and twisted, and she nearly fell. Kat yelled something and started running towards her sister-at-arms. Rupert yelled something from beside him and also started running. Ethan heard none of their words. Something heavy and cold was filling him, something glacial and unstoppable. He raised his hand and spoke phrases he didn't even know he still knew.

The wave of silent power that rippled out from him threw him backward to the ground.

A most inhuman scream echoed in his mind long after it had faded from his ears. Rolling over and pulling himself up, Ethan looked over to where Megan was and where the demon had been. There was nothing left of the latter except an oily smoking spot on the ground.

Megan... Rupert had Megan and was gently lowering her to the ground, his expression one of worried concern as he checked the wound on her side. Kat stood beside him, her hand to her mouth, her expression wide-eyed and scared.

Scrambling to his feet, Ethan stumbled over to the others, his gaze never leaving the injured child: his charge, his Slayer... his fault. His breathing sounded very loud inside his own head. Megan was unconscious now, her face sheened with sweat, and her body still jerking occasionally. The wound in her side was deep. It was bubbling blood, but there was green ichor there too.

"Megan, Megan..." Ethan muttered barely audibly, dropping to his knees beside her and laying his hands flat upon her body.

"It was some kind of Entropical demon," Giles said, tight-lipped with worry. "Very poisonous."

Ethan was only half-listening. "She's going to die." He heard the cut off sob from Kat and winced. "Hume's Cleansing, Rupert. I have to..."

"Do it."

Ethan felt a wave of anger ripple through him at Rupert's brusque words, for no good reason at all as far as he could tell. He swallowed it down and concentrated on remembering the spell. Megan was all that mattered for now. Reaching out with his extra-sensory awareness, he felt into the girl's body where, Slayer or not, she was fighting a losing battle against the invasive toxin.

_"Impigritas, ale me. Solve mihi pretio,"_ he muttered, drawing power from around him. He was vaguely aware of the lights flickering nearby. Switching languages, he continued, _"Wu xing bang ya dao."_ Ethan felt the power leave him as he directed into Megan's body. He felt it latch onto the wrongness of the toxin, smothering it as it was meant to, but only for a second. Then the poison _twisted_, growing stronger, moving faster through Megan's body.

Megan stiffened and a whimpering sound came from her throat, more an animal whine than a human noise.

Oh God, no... that wasn't right. He was making it worse somehow. What had Rupert said? Shit! Entropical demon... Ethan scrambled back in horror, realising what he'd done. "No, no, no..."

Rupert was holding Megan down as she convulsed. "Ethan, what did you do?"

"Do? Killed her. God, oh God..." Ethan's mind was awash with unaccustomed panic. He couldn't think; he could hardly breathe. He was sprawled on the ground watching the child who had trusted him run headlong towards death. "Entropy... I didn't listen, didn't hear..."

"Entropy feeds off Chaos magic," Rupert murmured in horrified realisation.

He'd killed her. He'd killed his Slayer. He had known he would end up hurting her, but this was even worse than he'd ever feared. "Oh God, Megan," he muttered, shaking his head furiously. "Damn you, Rupert..." For making this possible. For putting Ethan in a position where he could... murder a child. _The_ child. His...

Ethan curled up in a ball and dug his fingers viciously into his arms as he rocked.

Then Rupert was there, pulling him up, voice and expression hard and urgent. "You can have a breakdown later. Right now I need your help. Megan needs your help. I can do the spell, but I need you to talk me through it."

Yes. Yes, Rupert could do the spell. Could save her. Rupert didn't have Chaos in his blood. "Yes," Ethan said urgently. "Yes. Touch her. The main spell is Taoist. Connect to the five organs of chi. Use the basic Roman method to draw power. Then channel water to metal, metal to fire, fire to earth, earth to wood, wood to water. It creates a vortex that smothers the poison. Save her, Rupert. Please, dear God, Ripper, save her."

Before the last word was out, Rupert was moving, kneeling once again beside Megan, laying one hand on her forehead, the other on her chest. As Rupert intoned the same words that Ethan had used earlier, Ethan could feel the magic gathering, more powerful than he remembered Rupert's ever being before. It flowed into Megan's body to fix Ethan's mistake.

Ethan didn't dare reach out –with his hand, or with his magical senses– to touch Megan, to see if Rupert's magic was working. Ethan would make it worse again somehow; his innate chaos would distort and corrupt, destroy the restoration of her body's order. His touch killed...

Ethan couldn't bear to watch.

He turned and strode away, not heading anywhere consciously, but ending up standing in a corner of the plaza amongst raised flowerbeds, still in sight and sound of the others. Laughing a little hysterically, he put his hand within the vegetation, expecting it to immediately shrivel up and die at his touch. It didn't, of course. Time seemed to blur.

"Ethan." Rupert's call was soft, but insistent. It kept coming. Reluctantly, Ethan moved back over to the small group, fearing what he was going to see...

Megan's eyes were open. Pain-filled, but awake and aware.

"It worked," Rupert said in that same soft voice.

Ethan inhaled deeply and shut his eyes. For Megan's sake, he had to appear as if in control of himself. Opening his eyes again, he smiled down at the child. "Welcome back, sweetheart. Gave us quite a scare there, you naughty creature. We'll get you to hospital now, and you mustn't worry about a thing..." The words trailed off rather faintly, and he wrapped his arms around himself to try to stop the shivering.

Rupert had jury-rigged a bandage out of his jacket, pressing it against Megan's side. "You're going to be fine," he said to Megan.

Kat suddenly appeared at Ethan's side and put her hand on Ethan's arm. From her expression, it wasn't clear whether she was asking for or giving comfort. Ethan jerked away from her, taking a step backwards and shaking his head. "No, don't. I'm... I'm not safe."

"E-Ethan?" Megan's voice was barely audible, but it sounded loud in Ethan's mind.

"I'm here," he replied immediately and dropped to his knees beside her, but he was careful to ensure none of him touched the Slayer. "I'm right here."

"...hurts..."

"Yes," he nodded, his hands twitching in the effort not to reach out. "Yes, it really does."


	5. Chapter 5

"She's going to be fine."

Giles had lost count of the number of times he'd said that to Ethan since they'd left Megan at the hospital, but the other man had been unresponsive each time, especially since they'd dropped Kat safely home at her boarding house. Ethan was apparently lost in his own thoughts, twitching and occasionally, Giles suspected, mumbling, although nothing could be made out over the engine noise.

As street lights and passing cars briefly illuminated Ethan's face, Giles glanced over, and he saw nothing to dispel his worries. Ethan looked... scared. There wasn't much Giles could do while driving except get them home as quickly as possible. Then, he promised himself, they'd deal with everything together.

Whether Ethan wanted to or not.

They were quite close to home when Ethan suddenly said, "Pull over." One look at Ethan's expression was enough to get Giles to comply. "I-" Ethan didn't seem to be able to look at Giles, and he was fumbling with the door handle. "I should be back by dawn, maybe a little later."

Without thought, Giles reached over and grabbed Ethan's arm, keeping him from getting out. "No," he said quietly, truly afraid of what would happen if Ethan went off on his own. "Not tonight."

"I need to, Rupert." Ethan's tone was tense.

"You need somewhere safe and quiet to do the ritual. You have that at home."

"I..." Ethan was staring at Giles' hand on his arm. "Are you serious?"

"I don't want you alone tonight," Giles told him, leaving all the reasons why unsaid.

There were a few moments of silence. Then, in a strange, tight little voice, Ethan said, "Would you be a sweetheart and remove your hand, Rupert? I don't require restraint." Giles did so, although he didn't relax until Ethan gestured for him to drive on.

There was silence until they pulled up outside the house, when Ethan asked abruptly, "Should I use the spare room?"

"Where would be the most comfortable?" Giles asked. He wasn't exactly crazy about having Chaos magic in his bedroom, but these were exceptional circumstances. For Ethan, he would, as Buffy would say, deal.

"Comfort doesn't matter." Ethan opened the door of the car and got out, shutting it behind him. Giles watched Ethan walk straight to the house, open the door and go in. Normally Ethan waited for Giles, and they walked in together. Giles followed Ethan inside as quickly as he could, not liking this withdrawal and not willing to let it continue without at least trying to reach the other man.

He caught up to Ethan in the living room and grabbed his arm again to keep him from continuing to walk away. "Wait."

Ethan spun around, glaring. He spoke through gritted teeth. "Don't. Touch. Me."

The hostility took Giles off-guard. "Ethan, wha-"

"Just... just keep away from me. I can't be near you tonight." Ethan turned to walk away again, but then stopped, and with his back to Giles, said vehemently, "You've got a lot to answer for."

Giles took a deep breath. So it was going to be him that Ethan placed the blame on. "Ethan, I –"

"Shut up!" Ethan whirled back around; his face was contorted with what looked like fury. Giles had never seen him so angry before. Well, maybe once... "You did this. You did it." Ethan was waving a pointing finger in blame. "Stupid, selfish, cruel-"

Despite his resolve to remain calm, Giles' own guilt and anger were sparked by Ethan's. "You think I _wanted_ Megan to get hurt? That I wouldn't have given anything for it not to have happened?"

For a fraction of a second, it almost looked as if Ethan was going to be stupid enough to try to hit Giles, but some kind of sense obviously prevailed. His voice was, while not calmer, a little more controlled when he next spoke. "You... you made me a sodding Watcher. You put me, _me_, in charge of children. You made... you made..." He stopped and seemed almost to be fighting back sobs.

The anger flowed harmlessly out of Giles as quickly as it had first caught flame. Ethan's words made it clear that he wasn't blaming Giles so much as lashing out blindly. Giles reached out again to try and touch him.

"No!" Ethan threw his hands up, knocking Giles' aside. His expression was now one more of fear than anger. "Don't touch me. Don't..." He took a stumbling step back and tripped, falling onto his arse by the stairs. "You did this. You did this to me. You made me care. Oh God, you made me care..."

Giles' entire understanding of the situation shifted. This wasn't about guilt or anger –although both were certainly present– this was about sheer terror. For someone who had been alone for most of his life, this had to be more bewildering and devastating than Giles could imagine.

Kneeling down beside where Ethan was sprawled, Giles implacably pulled his lover into his arms, holding on while Ethan struggled, as much against himself as against Giles. Eventually, Ethan went limp in his arms and after a little while longer, he put his arms around Giles and murmured miserably, "I'm sorry. It's possible I may not be coping too well."

Giles ran his hand in light circles over Ethan's back. "Possibly," he admitted. "But you don't have to cope alone."

"I just don't... I haven't... There's only ever been you, Rupert. And most of those years even my affection for you was all twisted up with resentment. I don't have any idea how to do this. How to care... if she'd died... I don't understand how you can cope with these things."

"For me, the alternative, not caring, is unacceptable." Memories swirled around him as he added, "That doesn't mean I've always coped well."

Ethan shifted against him, perhaps trying to get closer, or maybe just more comfortable. "You're stronger than me. Always have been."

Giles tightened his embrace. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

"I'm a broken man remade, and the glue's still wet." Ethan sighed. "I need to do my... to do the ritual." He pushed back a little and smiled very weakly at Giles. "I'll use the spare bedroom, and I'll do my sorry best not to let any energies escape, but you'd be wise to protect yourself. Especially the way you're glowing currently."

Startled, Giles quickly took inner stock; he'd thought he'd pushed all of his power down again after burning the poison from Megan's system, but Ethan was right. It was all lurking there, barely beneath the surface; he would indeed be glowing to magic sense.

"I guess all the excitement kept me from locking it down properly," he murmured, as much to reassure himself as in response to Ethan. That was all it was, he told himself. He'd just been too distracted to do a proper job.

Ethan's hand softly caressed Giles' cheek. "You're beautiful," he said, with a slightly stronger smile. Then he stood up and started to climb the stairs, murmuring, "Thank you, Rupert," very quietly as he went up.

Giles watched him go, letting out a breath. He hoped that the ritual would help Ethan; he could put up with Chaos magic in his house if it did. Himself, he was going to have a glass or two of scotch. Then he was going to see about locking his magic back down. He might well be beautiful when glowing with power, but he was also dangerous.

 

A little over an hour later, Giles opened his eyes, admitting defeat. He was exhausted, had the beginnings of a headache, and his magic stubbornly refused to go back into the mental box he kept it in.

He leant back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The entire house resonated with the wild magic that Ethan was playing with upstairs, making it impossible to meditate or even concentrate on anything for very long. It was the mental equivalent of having ants crawling on his skin.

Giving it up as a lost cause, Giles downed the last of his drink and stood up. He headed upstairs intending to go to bed. Not that he thought he was going to get to sleep with his nerves jangling as they were, but at least he could pretend.

Giles had to walk past the spare room to get to the bedroom, and Ethan was standing there, leaning against the doorframe. His lover's eyes were black pits, and his smile was that of a hungry wolf. "Hello Ripper," Ethan drawled.

"Ethan," Giles responded, his magic stirring in response to the power-centre that Ethan currently was. Giles frowned, doing his best to push it back down again.

"So beautiful," Ethan murmured and stepped lazily forward to touch Giles' face as he had earlier downstairs. "Quite exquisite."

And just like that, Giles' magic was back right at the surface. He stepped back, away from the touch. "Ethan, perhaps this isn't the best time–"

But Ethan was moving closer still, forcing Giles back against the banister and pressing their bodies together. "I want you," he said huskily, his black-eyed gaze burning into Giles'.

Giles' body responded to Ethan's proximity and to his magic. Giles could almost feel it running along his skin. "I... I don't think–" he stammered.

"Shh," Ethan soothed in a way that wasn't remotely calming, and he pressed his hungry-wolf lips to Giles' while his hands stroked wild magic across Giles' body.

Oh God. He tried to resist, but the sensations running through him were overwhelming. Without thought, his lips parted under Ethan's, and a whimper escaped him when a tongue slid into his mouth, tingling with power.

Ethan kissed like a starving man, pressing and rubbing into Giles until the banister rail began to creak ominously behind him. Then Ethan was pulling him into the spare bedroom, their lips still locked together, as they headed past the ritual remains to the bed Ethan had apparently pushed against the wall.

The Chaos energies from the ritual were even stronger here, and Giles felt himself getting lost in them, despite his best effort to hold onto and control his own magic. Ethan's touch was creating an ache that Giles couldn't ease alone, the power stroking him all over, arousing him in spite of his misgivings.

"Oh, my Ripper," Ethan murmured against his lips, and he turned them around together then pushed forward, so that Giles fell back onto the bed, with Ethan on top. _"Texurum divid!" _Ethan declared, and Giles found his clothes, and Ethan's as well, falling into useless rags around them.

Giles groaned at the feeling of skin against skin, magic against magic, Ethan and the Chaos power pulling the reaction from him, wrapping him up in a place where all he could do was feel. Reacting in any useful way was suddenly beyond him.

Ethan's mouth was consuming Giles' own, and Giles felt like he was being sucked inside his lover. And those long-fingered hands were on his chest, pulling at his nipples. Everything that was Ethan was tugging at Giles, dragging his magic out to join with Ethan's, the way they had once played.

But things were very different now. Weren't they?

There was a voice in the back of Giles' mind that insisted his magic was bad, dangerous. He no longer was comfortable with his magic and couldn't let it flow freely no matter the circumstances. Even now, with Ethan's overwhelming power drawing it out, Giles couldn't stop fighting it, couldn't stop being terrified that if he did relax his control he'd never get it back.

But fighting wasn't helping, at least not enough, as he could feel his own power mixing with Ethan's, who was moaning and twitching on top of him. Giles felt himself lift from the bed and float further over it before touching down again, and he wasn't even sure whose magic had fuelled the manoeuvre. Ethan's legs were between his own, and that was different too.

The magic – his, Ethan's, both of theirs, he could no longer tell – wrapped around him, making him arch upwards with a gasp, spreading his legs without conscious decision, offering himself for... for...

The ache inside him was suddenly taking on very specific shape.

With an awed expression that seemed to suggest he couldn't quite believe what he was doing, Ethan moved... and was suddenly inside Giles, slipping easily in on a lubrication of the magic that surrounded them. Their combined power surged around the bed, whirling out of either man's control.

Terror surged through Giles, heightening every other sensation. He clung to Ethan, hips rocking automatically as they moved together; all the while that voice in his mind babbled, 'No, control, no control...' over and over.

Ethan, oblivious and quite astoundingly beautiful, haloed with a fiery aura and looking for all the world like Lucifer incarnate, fucked Giles hard. Having never been inside Giles before, he seemed determined to make up for lost time, and there was fevered delight in his soot-black eyes. As the pleasure rippled through them both –Giles as powerless to resist it as he was the magic that linked them– corresponding waves rippled out through the surrounding field, and the lights began to flicker.

Giles could hear someone moaning, only dimly aware that it was his own voice. He was lost in the physical sensation of being taken, being fucked; the magic swirling through and around him, claiming him as much as Ethan was. All he could do was hold on, laid totally open to both.

And then Ethan was howling triumphantly and coming hard, and this like everything else was drawing an equal reaction from Giles. He felt his orgasm dragged from him forcibly.

It rushed over him with a power that couldn't be withstood, and took the world with it when it went away.

***

When Ethan awoke, the first thing he was aware of was the imminent likelihood of being sick, and he didn't want to vomit on poor Rupert whom he seemed to be lying on. Ethan was out of the door and halfway to the bathroom before he realised they'd been sleeping in the spare bedroom for some reason... Then he remembered why.

Ethan nearly didn't make it to the bathroom in time.

Clinging to the toilet bowl, his body wracked with vicious spasms, Ethan was no more than half-aware of his physical condition. His mind was lost in the realisation of what he had done last night. Done to Rupert. Oh dear God, Rupert...

The thought seemed to summon the man as the next thing he was aware of was Rupert kneeling beside him, helping to brace him against continuing spasms. It was not unlike how Rupert had held Ethan during his convalescence, when his lungs had seemed ready to quit his body.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, so sorry..." he managed to get out before the retching started again. Rupert remained silent, but he held Ethan tighter. There was nothing left in his stomach; there hadn't exactly been much there in the first place. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat by the time his naked body collapsed back against Rupert's. Ethan felt frail and physically ill, but that was nothing compared to how he was feeling about himself.

Rupert shifted enough to reach up and get a cloth, wetting it in the sink. "Don't," he said softly as he rubbed it over Ethan's face.

Passively allowing himself to be tended to, not understanding why Rupert wanted to even touch him, Ethan shivered. "Don't?"

"I can practically hear you thinking. Don't. It was because of the magic, both of ours."

"But I..." Ethan had virtually raped Rupert, hadn't he? Agreed, his memories were a bit hazy.

"_Don't_," Rupert said again. "You weren't in control any more than I was."

What did Ethan remember? Doing the ritual, getting high as the bloody clouds. Rupert downstairs beneath him, his lover's magic a siren call. Then Rupert was outside the door, and Ethan was going to him, unable to resist touching him, deliberately calling to Rupert's magic with his own. Had he been in control of himself or not? Ethan had no damn idea. He whimpered and curled up against Rupert's chest.

Rupert wrapped him in his arms tightly. "Come on," he said after a moment, standing and pulling Ethan up with him. "The bathroom floor isn't where to have this conversation."

As Ethan was shivering with a chill caused by evaporating sweat, he could hardly argue. He let Rupert lead them both to the master bedroom, and the sheets of their shared bed had never felt so welcoming as he curled up under them. "I'm so sorry," he said again, his shock at his own actions not lessening at all.

"Apology accepted," Rupert said softly, pulling Ethan close again.

Desperate for comfort, Ethan went willingly and wrapped himself around Rupert, but when he realised this action meant he was now lying half on top of Rupert, Ethan froze.

"It's all right." If anything, Rupert's embrace tightened. "We're not going to let this change us."

"No, you're wrong. I... we have to change." Ethan wasn't sure where the words came from, but he knew them for truth as soon as he said them.

Rupert held him even tighter. "I'm not taking the chance of losing you," he said fiercely. "Not again."

"Which," Ethan said quietly, stroking Rupert's neck with soft fingertips, "Is why we have to change. We need help, Ripper."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," Rupert said after a moment's long silence. "Are you certain you know what you're asking?"

That was a good question. Was he? "Rupert, last night I nearly killed my Slayer then went on to... then did things to you that... If I can't change, I'd have to go... and God, then I might as well just... Without you, I can't..." He sighed, exasperated with himself. "Is talking about important things this difficult for everyone, or am I just blessed with a unique speech impediment?"

Rupert kissed him on his forehead. "You're doing fine." He kissed him again. "And whatever happens, I'm not letting you go. That's not a mistake I'm going to repeat."

Knowing his mouth must taste disgusting, Ethan didn't move in for a lips-to-lips kiss, much though he would have liked one. Especially before the next thing he seemed to feel compelled to say. "I need... I... Help would be appreciated. There's chaos and there's Chaos. You know that. My nature is what it is, but I could... I could try to move my alliance. Toward the more natural side of wild." He really couldn't believe he was saying that.

Rupert looked like he couldn't quite believe it either. "You'd be willing to do that?"

Ethan found the thought rather horrifying actually, but... "It has to be preferable to killing or abusing someone I care for. Rupert, don't hate me for saying this, please. But you need help too."

"The magic just got away from me last night," Rupert said. "Usually I can keep it locked..." He trailed off, looking at Ethan ruefully. "You're not buying this, are you?"

"I never have bought it, dearheart," Ethan replied gently. "Denying your power is like denying your sexuality or your intelligence. It's not altogether good for one's health, you know." He smiled wryly, but then sighed, feeling unsettled. "And I'm going to be a constant torment for you if you don't learn to stop being scared of who you are." He pressed a kiss into Rupert's neck. "I don't want to hurt you anymore."

He heard Rupert let out a sigh as his body relaxed underneath Ethan. "All right," Rupert said. "The girls could probably use some time away to recover from last night anyway. I'll call Devon and see what I can arrange."

Ethan was very pleased Rupert had accepted the suggestion so well. Perhaps things were really going to be all right. "Ah, the infamous coven. Somehow I knew I'd end up there one day. Hmm... aren't they likely to blast me on sight?"

"You're coming to them asking for help. That makes a difference."

"I'll take your word for it." Ethan was feeling nervous already. Why exactly had he suggested this again? "I like the idea of the girls coming. I wouldn't want them staying here alone within reach of the walking Electra Complex."

"Nice one," Rupert complimented. "I may have to remember and use that."

Ethan chuckled, but sobered quickly, thinking of Megan. "We should go to the hospital, see if we can take her home."

"Yes." Rupert hesitated then asked, "Could you handle that alone? I don't want to keep her waiting, but I really do need to get my magic locked down again, for now at least. I need some time alone to do that."

Ethan grimaced, nodding reluctantly. "I understand that the best way I can help you do that is by not being here. Rupert, did I... are you hurt at all?"

Rupert smiled, caressing Ethan's face. "I'm fine. A bit sore perhaps, but that's not necessarily unpleasant."

"We've never..." Ethan didn't want to verbalise it. He knew Rupert could fill in the blanks anyway. He watched his own finger draw circles on Rupert's chest.

"No, we haven't." Rupert's hand covered Ethan's. "Wouldn't mind doing it again some time."

Ethan didn't know what he thought about that. He shifted about uncomfortably and eventually sat up. "I'll think about it," he said a little tensely. "I... I should get up then. I'm quite parched, Rupert. If I bat my eyelashes at you, would you make me a cuppa? While I shower?"

"Certainly." Rupert got up, clasping Ethan's shoulder as he stood. "And Ethan?"

Ethan turned to look at Rupert, eyebrows raised questioningly.

"You're coping fine."

***

Ethan patted his jacket over the top of the inside pocket, reassuring himself that the small package was still there. Then, taking a deep breath and drawing himself up straighter, he entered the small hospital room –private thanks to the Council's BUPA account– and smiled warmly at the girl sitting up in bed.

"Good morning, Megan. How's my fallen hero feeling today? Ready to get up again?"

"Ethan!" Megan's expression brightened immediately. "Are you here to take me home?"

"I certainly hope so." He shut the door and walked over to the chair by the bedside, pulling it a bit closer before sitting down. "The nurse says we need to wait for the doctor's say-so, but if he takes too long, I know a useful little cloaking spell. Seriously, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

"It hurts if I move too fast, but it's not too bad." She smiled. "Got to love Slayer healing."

Ethan realised he was smiling at her in a way that could easily have been described as doting, and he rubbed his face in embarrassment. "I nearly killed you trying to save you," he admitted quietly. He put his hand close to hers on the bed, but couldn't bring himself to touch skin to skin after yesterday. "I don't have words for how sorry I am. It... It won't happen again."

Megan's smile faded. "You're not... What do you mean by that? Exactly?"

Why was everyone so sure he was going to leave them? Didn't they realise that once Ethan loved something he could never give it up? Impulsively, Ethan overcame his fear and grasped his Slayer's hand. "I'm not going anywhere, Megan. Or at least I am, but you're coming too. We're all going to have a pleasant little holiday in Devon." He paused and then translated into American parlance. "Vacation, that is."

"Really?" She brightened again. "We're going to visit the Coven?"

"Yes, all four of us. Maybe I'll be able find that elusive candy floss for you there."

"I don't know; I'm starting to think we may have to go back to the States to find some."

"I'll have you know the British invented candy floss, young lady," Ethan said in mock-outrage at her teasing. "We'll head to Torquay or someplace similar, and I'll prove to you beyond question of doubt that our teeth-rotting junk food is better than yours."

"Are we going to undertake exhaustive scientific studies?" she asked, for all the world like she was serious if not for the twinkle in her eye.

"No." Ethan grinned and sat back, separating their hands. "I am merely going to tell you the facts of the matter, and like the good weapon you are, you're going to believe every word I, as your Watcher, say." He reached into his pocket and drew out the small gift box he'd concealed, offering it to her. "Here's a little something to say sorry."

Megan took it, but didn't open it right away. Instead she met Ethan's eyes seriously. "Ethan, you do know that you saved me last night, don't you?"

He felt very uncomfortable. "Megan, you were unconscious. I was well meaning, yes, but I nearly killed you all the same. If Rupert hadn't been there..." He grimaced. "Just open it, will you? I haven't given anyone a present in over twenty years. It's making me a trifle nervous."

"You killed that... whatever it was. Giles said that you're the one who knew the spell he used to save me. So if you hadn't been there last night, I might not be here now. And I am going to thank you for that, whether you like it or not." She gave him a stubborn look for a long moment before dropping her gaze to the present as she started unwrapping it.

Ethan tried very hard to pretend to himself that he wasn't petrified by any of this.

The wrapped gift box contained a discreet silver pendant on a chain. He'd picked it out for her earlier that morning at a small magic shop near Soho, which he'd used many times over the years. The pendant itself wasn't magical, although it was made from blessed silver. It was in the exquisitely crafted shape of an owl in flight.

Having unwrapped the box, Megan opened it, and froze for long enough to increase Ethan's worries.

"It's just a trifle," he said hurriedly. "Please don't feel obliged to wear it."

"It's beautiful," Megan breathed reverently, and Ethan felt a flood of relief. She looked up and then was leaning forward to hug him. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," he said weakly, holding her tightly for a few seconds before relaxing his arms. "Just don't go nearly dying on me again, eh?"

"I'll do my best." She pulled back enough to hand the pendant to him. "Help me put it on?"

He nodded. "Turn around then." She did, collecting and lifting her long hair for him. Carefully, he strung the chain around her neck and fastened the clasp. "Now let me see how it looks."

Megan turned back, striking a pose. "Well?"

Ethan looked at the silver necklace then met her eyes, saying with utter sincerity, "It's you."


	6. Chapter 6

"Don't you think you're driving rather fast for these roads?" Ethan said nervously. The Devonshire lanes were narrow, undulating and winding, with towering hedgerows to either side. Visibility was rarely more than a few feet ahead.

Rupert glanced over at him with amused disbelief. "This is about half the speed you used to habitually drive at," he pointed out.

"Keep your eyes on the road, please," Ethan snapped back. There was a distinct giggle from the back seat, and he turned to direct a brief glare at the two girls. "Is something amusing?"

"You sound like my mom did when my brother just got his licence," Kat informed him with a grin.

"Yes, well, it's a good thing for you that I'm not your 'mom', or I'd be smacking that impertinent little– Rupert! For God's sake, get out of the middle of the sodding road!"

He knew they were all laughing at him. He was on edge, that was all; Ethan was still half-convinced the Coven would sense his arrival and blast him where he sat. And Rupert was taking stupid risks for some reason known only to him. Didn't he understand that the girls were too important to endanger? That _he_ was too important to Ethan to play games with on-coming traffic?

"Relax," Rupert told him, reaching over and squeezing Ethan's hand. "Nothing's going to happen."

The words, or at least the sentiment behind them and the firm grip on his hand, did reassure a little, although Ethan would have rather Rupert kept both hands for driving. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the road ahead as they crested yet another hill and found themselves facing a magnificent view of rolling green pastures leading down to the sea.

"Oh, we're nearly there," Megan said behind him. "I remember this."

"So is this when we're supposed to start asking 'are we there yet'?" Kat piped up.

Ethan rubbed at his forehead; it was starting to ache. "Is it too late to turn around and go home?"

Rupert squeezed his hand. "This isn't so bad," he said. "Try travelling with an entire busload of Slayers."

"I can sense them, you know," Ethan remarked casually, as if it didn't scare him silly. The combined power he was aware of in this place seemed enormous.

"They've been here a long time," Rupert replied, just as casually.

"A busload of Slayers?" Kat asked, confused. There was some murmuring in the back then as Megan explained in hushed tones some things that she apparently knew about magic.

Ethan said nothing more for a while as they motored into more inhabited areas, passing a sign naming the small town as Combe Martin. The smell of ozone was in the air as they drove along a surprisingly long high street, past many shops proclaiming cream teas and Cornish pasties. Just after they'd left the town again, Rupert hit the indicators, and they turned up a narrow private lane that twisted uphill.

"Yay, we're here!" Kat announced happily. "I call dibs on the bathroom."

"Not if I get there first," Megan countered, both of them unbuckling and at their respective doors, looking as if they were going to be out and off as soon as Rupert stopped the car. Ethan tried to remind himself that they were Slayers, and even if they did jump from a moving car, it wouldn't hurt them. His scalp was crawling, and he dragged his fingers through his hair, scratching viciously.

Rupert noticed. "Wards," he explained. "It affected me the same way the first time I came."

"Oh, I'm enjoying this little getaway so much already," Ethan replied, his tone dry enough to suck moisture from the surrounding air.

They drove into a tree-lined courtyard by a large white farmhouse, and Rupert stopped the car. He turned, reaching out to run his fingers through Ethan's hair in a way that somehow seemed to help alleviate the itch. "How are you doing?" he asked.

Ethan gave him a weak smile, but didn't reply immediately. The Slayers had their doors open and were getting out. "Girls with super-strength get to carry the luggage in," he called to them, then looked back at Rupert. "I'm not about to run away," he promised quietly.

Rupert smiled and leant over and kissed him. "I know."

After stealing another kiss, Ethan asked, "So the woman who runs this guest house is one of them, and I have to be on my best behaviour from this point on?"

"You don't want to scare Megan and Kat," Rupert teased. "Just be yourself and don't go out of your way to cause trouble. You'll be fine."

"Be myself and not cause trouble, isn't that a contradiction in terms?" Ethan asked, as he unbuckled his seatbelt. The girls were obediently getting the bags from the opened boot of the BMW. He looked over at the house and saw a robust-looking woman in riding gear walking across the gravel to them. "Ah, must be the witching hour."

Rupert got out of the car and went to meet her. "Lucy," he said, reaching out to take her hands briefly. "Thank you for taking us on such short notice."

As Ethan reluctantly got out of the car, he heard her answer, "Good to see you, Rupert," in a brusque but friendly voice, well spoken, but with an edge of the West Country drawl. "You too, girls. You have the Exmoor Room between you this time, and the men have the Beech Room, if you want to take the bags up." She turned to look at Ethan, and he had to resist the urge to start scratching again.

"This is my lover, Ethan Rayne." Rupert introduced him. "Ethan, this is Lucy Harkness, who is going to quite probably spend the next week telling me 'I told you so.'"

"Mr Rayne." Lucy nodded, her expression neutral. She had brown hair collected in a bunch and hairnet over the back of her neck.

"Call me Ethan, please. Forgive me for not shaking your hand, but I fear a matter-antimatter explosion."

A small but genuine smile appeared on the woman's freckled face. "Wise, I'm sure." She turned back to Rupert. "Get settled in, and we'll chat over tea. Do you ride, Ethan?"

"Yes, but not horses," he heard himself answer.

Off to the side, Rupert seemed to be struck by a sudden coughing fit, but Lucy merely looked amused before she headed off to the side of the house, riding crop in one hand, helmet in the other.

Kat and Megan were walking through the front door with the luggage. Ethan turned to Rupert. "I think I might fancy a spot in the saddle later. It's this fine country air, you know. Makes me long for the crop in my hand, the mount tensing below me..." He sniggered and started walking to the door.

He was surprised by Rupert's arms going around his waist from behind, pulling him back. "I think something like that could be arranged," Rupert murmured against Ethan's ear and then let go and sauntered past him into the house.

Suddenly more than a little hard, Ethan stared after him and thought that maybe the holiday wasn't going to be so bad after all.

***

Giles closed the door to their room and leaned against it, relishing the sudden quiet. Kat and Megan meant a lot to him, but teenage girls when excited tended to go on about anything and everything. At length. It all got somewhat tiring after a while.

Ethan had gone to look out of the window. "Everything's so _green_ here," he said, and it was unclear from his tone whether he considered that a good or a bad thing. He turned to face Giles, leaning back against the sill. "Tea was nice. I have fondness for a well made toad-in-the-hole." His eyes twinkled with humour, but then he frowned slightly. "So when can I expect the third degree?"

"I don't know if you can." Giles crossed over to where Ethan was standing. "With Lucy and the others, often you're in the middle of the third degree before you realise it's happening."

"Ah, more like the Spanish Inquisition then." Ethan wasn't smiling, but the twinkle was back in his eyes.

"Essentially, yes." Giles slid his arms around Ethan's waist. "How are you doing?"

"Much better than I'd imagined." Ethan moved off the sill and wrapped his own arms around Giles. "And you?"

It was still rather a novelty to have someone asking him that; Giles was more used to being the one doing the worrying. "I'm okay," he said, pulling Ethan closer. "Thank you for asking."

"How okay is okay?" Ethan asked, tipping his head and licking unexpectedly up the side of Giles' neck.

It was still rather a novelty to have someone do that to him as well. "Mm, better by the second."

A soft chuckle vibrated Ethan's body, and Giles felt lips and gentle teeth on his neck. "I wonder how soundproof these rooms are," Ethan murmured, before nibbling Giles' earlobe.

"I've never had occasion to test them," he admitted, tilting his head and giving Ethan better access.

Ethan moved back, his eyebrows raised. "I would certainly hope not."

Giles smiled at the possessiveness in the words. "Jealous?"

"Have I got something to be jealous of?" There was just a hint of a pout on Ethan's face.

Leaning in, Giles did his best to kiss the pout away. "What do you think?" he murmured when he pulled back.

Ethan appeared to consider the question seriously. "I think that, with a very few notable exceptions, you took your vow of abstinence into more areas of your life than just magic. But really, Rupert, I've no idea what you got up to while I was gone. I used to keep an eye on you, you know, but I couldn't then." He looked down, and Giles thought maybe he felt a slight shiver pass through the other man's body.

Tightening his embrace, Giles rubbed Ethan's back soothingly. "The last time I had anything remotely like a relationship was before your last visit to Sunnydale. I think..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I think that, at some level, I was waiting for you to show up again."

Ethan looked up and met Giles' gaze, and just for a fraction of a second, Ethan's dark eyes seemed unbearably sad, but then he grinned and the sun came out. "So are you going to shag me or not? I can't imagine we'll have long uninterrupted."

"The rest of the day if we want actually," Giles said, then gave his lover his best wolfish smile. "But I am definitely going to shag you. Just means I can take my time."

Now Ethan definitely did pout, but this time it was put on as Giles could see the delight in his eyes. "Waiting is so tiresome," Ethan said and slipped his hand between them to cup the front of Giles' trousers.

"Always so impatient." Giles pushed forward into Ethan's hand, leaning in to let his mouth hover right over his lover's. "I thought you wanted to go for a long hard ride..."

"Yes," Ethan breathed against Giles' lips, squeezing his cupping hand, "Now, and not when it pleases the horse."

"Impatient _and_ demanding," Giles said, his voice becoming husky as Ethan expertly pushed his buttons. "Now, what should I do about that?"

Deft fingers outlined Giles' swelling cock, rubbing and softly pinching, as Ethan's tongue flicked around Giles' lips. "Well, you could give me what I want," Ethan suggested, his voice a sultry purr.

"And just what would that be exactly?" Giles asked, his lips brushing against Ethan's as he spoke.

"You," Ethan breathed. "Taking what _you_ want."

Arousal surged at those words. "I think that can be arranged," Giles growled, kissing Ethan aggressively.

Ethan moaned into the kiss, yielding to it in a way that seemed to invite Giles to take more, to take as much as he wanted and then still more. His arms wrapped around, and he pushed and rubbed against Giles like a stroke-hungry cat.

Giles slid his hands down Ethan's arms, closing a tight grip around his wrists and pulling them until they were bent behind Ethan's back. "I think I'm going to have to come up with a way of curtailing your squirming."

Through both their trousers, Giles felt Ethan's cock twitch against his thigh. His lover's breathing was heavy and his nostrils flared. "Yes," Ethan averred, then slowly and deliberately began to struggle.

Tightening his grip to just this side of being painful, Giles stepped back towards the bed, pulling Ethan with him. "You think the bed can take it if I tie you to the headboard?" he asked, almost conversationally.

"Oh, most certainly," Ethan replied, trying for, but not quite managing a similar tone. Giles doubted Ethan had actually considered the question at all.

"Right now, I could say I want to paint you bright blue and you'd agree, wouldn't you?"

"Ripper..." Ethan moaned, struggling some more against Giles' strong grip, but carefully never enough to actually risk breaking free. "Please, Ripper."

It was as easy to slip into that mindset as it was to slip into the accent as he pushed Ethan onto the bed. "Don't move," he ordered, before letting go of Ethan's wrists and turning to their bags, looking for something that could be adapted into restraints.

Giles could feel Ethan's gaze upon him as he drew out two leather belts from a suitcase. When he turned back to the bed, he was struck by Ethan's appearance: dark-eyed and wanton, his hips lifted by his crossed hands beneath them, his erection pulling the fabric of his slacks taut. Totally caught by the sight, Giles reflected that this wasn't anything new. He'd been caught from the first moment Ethan had ever looked at him that way.

"Never could resist you," Giles said as he crossed back over to the bed and straddled Ethan, the belts in his hand.

Ethan grimaced as Giles' weight made lying on his hands increasingly uncomfortable, his neck arching as he tipped his head back. "I'm the way you made me," he murmured. Giles couldn't decide whether that was a non sequitur or not.

"I didn't make you," he countered, gently tugging on Ethan's arms and pulling them above his head. "Although I may have encouraged certain... proclivities."

His body straighter on the bed now, Ethan looked up at Giles and smiled. "That wasn't quite what I meant, although far from untrue."

"We helped shape each other, I think," Giles murmured, wrapping one of the belts around Ethan's wrists. "Still are."

Ethan nodded. "Since before we even met, you were the mould which shaped me." He made no attempt to escape the thick leather, although he rotated his wrists a little against it and smiled.

"I must have had a long reach then." With the other belt, Giles tied Ethan's bound wrists to the headboard.

"I've always been somewhat single-minded about certain things," Ethan said, tugging hard at his wrists now that he was securely restrained. "You know that. It was necessary that I... had someone. I knew exactly what I was looking for."

While Giles knew that the boy Ethan had been had stalked him for a while before first making contact, this was new information. "And what _were_ you looking for?" Giles asked softly, running his hands lightly down Ethan's arms, feeling the muscles bunch and tense as Ethan pulled against his bonds.

"You," Ethan answered simply, but then went on, his gaze locked to Giles'. "I needed a mirror. Not a twin, not a mirror in that sense, but someone who could tell me who I was. Someone with chameleon-hued eyes that I could search for patterns and meaning..." He looked down self-deprecatingly, as if embarrassed by his own words, and when his gaze moved back up, he was smirking. "So if you know anyone who fits the description, be a doll and send them my way, would you?"

Giles leant over and kissed him gently, moved as he always was when Ethan allowed him glimpses behind the masks, although those masks were thinner now than they had ever been. "I see you," he murmured as he pulled back. "I'll always see you."

Ethan chuckled in a way that sounded almost nervous. "Please keep kissing me, Rupert, as hard as you dare. Else I'm going to say something even more cringingly sentimental, and we don't want that, do we?"

"Love you," Giles told him and then did as requested, losing himself in kissing Ethan senseless.

***

"You obviously love him," Lucy said, with customary bluntness. "But do you trust him?"

Giles had ridden out with her to this narrow and secluded valley where they now sat together on the hillside. Below them, the bottom of the 'V' was filled with a fast flowing brook, which he could hear more than see, as the ferns had grown high on either side of it. Their horses, tethered loosely nearby, munched contentedly on the lush grass, their girths suitably loosened. It was a lovely Indian Summer day.

"I haven't always," he admitted, staring down at the hidden brook. "There've been times in the past that... well, things weren't the way they are now."

"What changed?"

Giles gave a half-smile. "Everything."

Lucy swatted a fly from her jodhpurs with her riding crop. Her broad, freckled face frowned at Giles. "Which really tells me nothing at all. He's too important to you for me to ignore, Rupert. Not if you want the help you came here for."

"I'm not trying to be facetious, Lucy. Everything has changed. The Council being destroyed, and everything that followed, made me take a look at my life and what I considered most important. Ethan had been through a horrendous ordeal that almost destroyed him. So I was less prone to be judgmental; he was less prone to be defensive, and..." Giles shrugged. "We got past, well, the past."

She nodded, her blue eyes never leaving his. "Can _we_ trust him?"

"Yes," Giles replied without hesitation. "Absolutely. Perhaps a few years ago I would have answered differently, but the Ethan who exists today... You can trust him."

"Good," Lucy said, clearly prepared to take Giles' word for it. "I imagine his daily presence in your life is what we have to thank for your return here, considering how unwilling you were to deal with this matter previously."

"Ethan has always had rather strong opinions about my magic," he said drily.

"Oh?" Lucy seemed slightly surprised. "He actually persuaded you to come here? I meant merely that his level of power must have been a constant reminder to you." One of the horses whinnied and shook before returning to its grazing.

Giles flashed on the feel of Ethan's magic sliding over his skin, and he couldn't totally suppress a tiny shiver made up as much of lust as discomfort. "You would not be incorrect in that statement," he admitted.

"Good," Lucy replied with satisfaction. "I'm assuming therefore that we can talk about your magic without you instantly finding an excuse to end the conversation."

"It's rather warm today, isn't it?" Giles asked, looking up at the sky.

The riding crop stung as it came down on his calf, even through the denim of his jeans. As he turned a disbelieving glare toward Lucy, Giles heard her chuckle, even as she answered in kind. "Yes, we're having a very mellow September."

Giles rubbed his calf. "I trust this isn't the teaching technique you used with Willow."

"No, I save this technique for the more difficult students. Talk to me, Rupert. Tell me about your magic."

Sighing, Giles leant back, giving in. This was, after all, why he was here. "What do you want to know?"

Lucy stirred and reached over for the backpack she'd discarded earlier, drawing out a thermos flask. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Tell me about the first time you used magic."

"I was twelve. It was a glimmer cantrip," he said, remembering his excitement when he'd succeeded at creating the magical equivalent of a night-light. "My father had given me a book of beginning spells, and I'd been studying it for a week."

"A magic-aware family then," she noted. "Do all the Giles' have it?"

"To a greater or lesser extent." It had been one of the things that had led to so many of his family being Watchers to the Slayer over the years. "Although I was told that I had more ability than any Giles in several generations."

She handed him a thermos cup full of dark strong coffee. "Your family approved of and encouraged your magic. Good. Show me the cantrip."

Giles blinked, startled. "I beg your pardon?"

"The glimmer cantrip. I want to see it."

"Why?"

Giles saw the crop twitch against Lucy's boot, much like the horses' tails twitching in reaction to mosquitoes. "I want to observe your power and how you use it."

Giles opened his mouth to ask why that particular spell, but closed it without saying anything at the look Lucy shot him. "Fine," he muttered, settling himself and reaching for just enough power to do as he'd been requested.

The gestures and words came back to him with very little thought and in less time than it took to think about it, there was a bright speck of light hovering in front of them.

"Well?" Giles asked, after taking time to lock down his power again.

Her blue eyes examined his features carefully. "Well?" she repeated his question.

"Did you get whatever you wanted out of observing?"

"I learnt a little. It will do for now, but you must be prepared for the fact that I will be setting you many magical exercises. What are you so afraid of, Rupert? Do you know?"

Giles didn't pretend that he didn't know what she was talking about. "It's not fear," he said. "It's prudence."

Lucy sipped her coffee. "What are you so 'prudent' of then?"

"Magic isn't a tool to be taken lightly. You know as well as I what can happen when you do."

"Tell me."

"You do remember the world almost ending a year back because of Willow's magic getting out of control?" he said drily.

"You believe that happened because Willow took magic lightly?"

"It happened because she never took responsibility for the using –or misusing– of magic. Even when she'd given it up, she treated it like an addiction, not a tool that she had to learn how and when to use." Giles spread his hands. "If that's taking magic lightly, then yes."

A plane hummed overhead as Lucy nodded and said, "So for you, magic is a tool that one has to learn how and when to use. I'm starting to understand."

Giles frowned. "Understand what, exactly?"

Lucy seemed to completely ignore his question. "Tell me, does Ethan see his magic as a tool?"

He smiled wryly. "Ethan sees his magic as only slightly more important than his need for air."

"Why is it so vital to him?"

"It was all he had for most of his life," Giles answered softly, remembering the boy Ethan had been when they first met. "It's become an essential part of his self-image."

"Does he take it lightly?" She put the thermos back together and returned it to the rucksack.

"More like the exact opposite."

"But he's not afraid of it. I mean 'prudent', of course." She smiled wryly at him.

"Actually, lately he's tried to be as _prudent_ as he's able to be," Giles replied. It was obvious what she was trying to do, but the point she was trying to make wasn't valid. "I'm not Ethan," he pointed out. "I don't need the magic the same way he does."

Lucy sat up straight, her gaze sharp, direct and dangerous. "Really."

He lifted an eyebrow. "You think I'm lying?"

Before answering, Lucy stood, and began to buckle her riding hat back on. "Frankly, yes. I believe you're lying to me and lying to yourself. I believe you need the magic just as much as anyone who has innate power does. I believe that at least part of your attraction to Ethan is a desperate longing for the part of yourself you have cut off and left to atrophy in some locked room inside your head." She turned to tighten the girth of her mount. "Yes, you're lying."

Giles fought to control the anger Lucy's words caused –not so much at the accusation of lying as he had half-expected that– but at the words about Ethan. "Are you," he began, voice deadly calm, "implying that I don't love Ethan, that I'm only using him?"

Lucy slipped her arms through the rucksack's straps and turned to study Giles carefully again; it provoked a feeling of near-physical irritation in Giles somehow. "No," she answered finally. "I said earlier that your love was obvious, and it is. I don't think you're using him, but I do think you're using his magic." She turned back to her horse and lifted herself into the saddle. "Come along, Rupert. That's enough for today."

"That much at least we can agree on," he said in clipped tones as he got up and went to his own horse. That was definitely enough for today.

Giles wasn't sure if it wasn't enough for a lifetime.


	7. Chapter 7

Having been more or less ordered to take a walk into town by Lucy, presumably so that she could talk to Rupert in peace, Ethan had reluctantly headed down the long winding hill into Combe Martin. It wasn't that he didn't want to look around the small town, which wasn't much more than a village really. On the contrary, he had a sneaking fondness for British seaside resorts. No, it was just that he'd rather have done his exploring _with_ Rupert.

Or with one or both of the girls.

Just not on his own. Ethan had never been a big fan of solitude, which was ironic really, all things considered.

Not that he actually was alone. Ever since he'd popped into the small antiques shop near the beginning of the excessively long high street, he'd become convinced that he was being followed. His hackles were up, figuratively at least.

Once or twice, he thought he'd caught a glimpse of whoever was watching him. A slender, grey-haired man, maybe. But the figure was only ever there in the corner of Ethan's eye, and when Ethan turned, there was no one.

It made Ethan uneasy and annoyed. He bought himself a seafood sandwich and climbed down the stone steps from the town and onto the sand of the small cove it surrounded. After walking –and indeed, clambering over slippery black rocks– far enough away from the fishermen and bathers for any observer to be obvious, Ethan found a dry, sun-warmed place to sit with his back to the cliff. He ate his sandwich, and he waited.

Despite his vigilance, Ethan only became aware of the stranger when the man sat down beside him, seeming to have appeared out of thin air. He sat, like Ethan, with his knees raised, his back to the stone of the cliff.

It was the grey-haired man Ethan had thought he'd glimpsed earlier. The man's face was lined with age, but his blue eyes were clear and sharp with intelligence. His body, under the large grey sweater and old brown trousers, seemed to be whipcord thin, but there was a vitality about him that belied any fragility his appearance might have otherwise suggested.

He sat there and just stared out at the waves.

"Most impressive," Ethan remarked drily, quickly covering his surprise and mild alarm at the sudden appearance. "Sandwich?" He offered the untouched second half in the packet.

"Thanks," the man said with a nod as he picked up the sandwich and then fell silent again as he began eating.

Patience wasn't really one of Ethan's strong points. He tried for a while to match the other man's quiet contemplation of the sea. Ethan had, after all, headed down here with the intention of studying the waters of the Bristol Channel. As his declared intention was to retune his magical alliance to _natural_ chaos, where better to start than with the ocean?

But the gently lapping waves were unexciting, and not even half as interesting as this mysterious stranger was; Ethan admitted defeat. "Am I such a threat to the peace of this place," he asked in a friendly tone, "that I need to be watched and accompanied wherever I go?"

"Would you rather be alone?" the man asked, giving him a knowing look.

Ethan looked back and rubbed his face thoughtfully before replying. "Company is welcome, so long as it's not about to blast me into an ugly smear on the sand."

The man chuckled. "Now why ever would I do that?"

Ethan chuckled in turn. "I'm hardly going to list the reasons. Grant me some sense of self-preservation. As it's the done thing, although I doubt it's necessary, allow me to introduce myself." He held out his hand, knowing that the touch would lead to a mutual exchange of non-verbal information if the other man shook it. "Ethan Rayne."

"Ian Woodson," the man said, taking the proffered hand. His handshake was firm, and Ethan could feel the man's power; it seemed as vast and as wild as the ocean itself. The touch and knowledge of it filled Ethan with unidentifiable feelings and a longing for something, a restlessness akin to cabin fever.

Confused, Ethan took his hand back and stared at the ground for a while, looking at the patterns within the swirls and streaks of the sand.

Ian asked, "So what brings a worshipper of Janus here?"

Ethan wasn't remotely surprised that Ian knew that about him. He wouldn't have been surprised if Ian turned out to know the name of Ethan's grandmother and the fact he had a mole on his left buttock. And therefore, there was absolutely no point in lying. "I'm seeking help."

Ian nodded as if the answer was expected. "You think you're ready for it?"

"I am without opinion on the matter," Ethan admitted. "I... have strong motivating reasons to change." He turned his best Cheshire cat grin on the other man. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to drop a little of the admittedly fascinating mystique and tell me what your interest in me is?"

"I wasn't under the impression that I was being mysterious," Ian huffed. Then, emotions seeming to change mercurially fast, he said seriously, "Like calls to like. I've been where you are."

Now that _was_ surprising. "I could move over a bit if you'd care to be there again." Ethan chuckled at his own joke, but he was watching Ian carefully now, trying to see himself in the man.

Ian shook his head. "The question, m'boy, is do you want to be where I am?"

Ethan sucked on his teeth a while, pondering the question. He picked up a white quartz pebble and played with it in his fingers. "I think you need to show me where that is before I can answer."

"Fair enough." Ian reached out a hand, waiting for Ethan to take it.

Ethan stared dubiously at the hand, but really, had the wizard –or whatever kind of being Ian was– wanted to hurt him, he would surely already have done so. "This would be the Siege Perilous, wouldn't it? Ah, Ripper, the things I do for you." Wincing a little at what seemed like abject foolishness, Ethan put his hand again into Ian's.

The power he'd sensed in Ian earlier surged and crashed through him, and suddenly Ethan was in touch with the natural chaos around him. The wind, the sea, the rocks he leaned against, all of them had their own touch of wildness. It was energy that Ethan had always known was there, but that he could suddenly see and touch and feel as if in his veins.

And his first reaction was _'I can't do this'_, a strong internal shout of denial that seemed to come from somewhere very deep inside of him. But after that came other reactions: curiosity, fascination, a desire to know more, excitement. Oh yes, excitement. And something more even than that...

Clinging onto Ian's hand as if afraid he'd drown in the new awareness, Ethan shuddered and swore without knowing what he was saying as the memory hit him. There was, it seemed, a reason why he liked seaside resorts.

The Variety Club of Great Britain appeased the consciences of its rich entertainment-based members by treating 'disadvantaged' kids to things they wouldn't otherwise have. Like seaside holidays. When he'd been seven years old, Ethan had been the lucky beneficiary of one of these. A yellow mini-bus had taken him and his unpleasant compatriots to Great Yarmouth where they'd stayed in chalets for a week.

Considering himself superior to the other children and not wanting to have anything to do with their ridiculous games, young Ethan had spent most of the time alone. He'd walked along the windswept Norfolk beach for miles, lost in thoughts undoubtedly unsuitable for one so young. One day a sudden storm had caught him, far away from safety.

But instead of terror and possibly pneumonia, the gales and pelting rain had bought Ethan awe and power. A city kid from birth, he'd never been exposed to the raw elements before. He'd had no idea. Aware somehow of almost every molecule, the child he'd been had felt the naked power of nature swirling around him, and he'd laughed. Because he had known he'd finally found a friend...

Shaking himself back into the present day, Ethan tried to withdraw his hand from the _natural_ chaos mage beside him. "I'd forgotten..." he said, and his voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

"It's always been there," Ian said, letting Ethan go. "Part of the natural world, in balance with everything else. But the dark Chaos rituals you've been giving yourself to, they drown it out. That's their whole point, to overwhelm all else and turn everything to chaos. That kind of chaos doesn't want to be in balance; it wants to be ascendant. Alone." He gave Ethan a sharp look. "But you know all that, don't you?"

All Ethan's equanimity had gone, and he stared at the other man, desperately wishing Rupert was with him instead. The little boy he had once been had come home from his holiday excited and vital, burgeoning with new awareness. Everything had changed. Only, of course, it hadn't. And as his ability with magic had grown, it became a way in which he could somewhat control his environment. A way to manipulate and gain revenge for the abusive neglect of his upbringing.

"I... I had no choice. It was for my own survival."

"It can help you survive, but it carries a heavy cost. To worship Chaos, your entire existence has to be dedicated to bringing Chaos to the world. It's a jealous master. Any attempt to have a life beyond that is doomed to failure."

"No."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "You know it's the truth. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

The urge to run away was enormous. Ethan found he was shaking just from the force of will it took to stay where he was sitting. He couldn't do this, and yet he had to as the alternative was so much worse. "I've never been brave," he found himself saying. "I'm not a hero, not like... not like my lover. I'm just a talented survivor."

The smile Ian gave him was kind. "You have more in you than you think, Ethan. It won't be easy, but you can let go of the dark Chaos and find again what you had as a child." He squeezed Ethan's shoulder reassuringly. "It's what you were meant for."

"And there," Ethan replied, hearing the panicky edge to his own voice, "We, or at least I, have a problem. Letting go is not something I do." He smiled at Ian, but could feel it probably looked more like a half-mad grimace.

"Then hang onto the things that brought you here," Ian told him. "Hang onto that love and hope. Hang onto the feel of the sea in your mind, the wind in your blood. If you hang on tightly enough to all the things you want out of life, you won't have room to hang onto the things that are trying to consume you."

Considering the number of things he was meant to be hanging onto, Ethan was feeling remarkably untethered. The awareness of how magic had first come to him had been lost to Ethan until now. Was Ian right? Had Ethan been meant for the kind of magic Ian possessed? "You said you were once where I now am."

"I did, and I was." Ian looked out at the sea. "Chaos worship is a great temptation to any who have our talents."

Ethan shifted on the sand. The sun was behind a cloud, and the beach seemed dark and cold now. "How did you change?"

"Sheer bloody mindedness and lots of hard work." Ian met his gaze. "It isn't easy; it's probably the hardest thing you'll ever do, but it _can_  
be done."

"Oh good. Hard work. Something else I'm so suited to." Ethan's tone was peevish. "Are you here to be my guide, or just to tell me how hard it's going be before you bugger off as mysteriously as you arrived? Just so I know what to expect here, you understand."

Ian chuckled. "I'm here to help as much as you want me to. You tell me you want to do this, I'll see you through, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming."

Ethan looked down at the sand again, noticing pieces of broken shell amongst a ripple of shingle, his eyes automatically tracing the spiral. "It isn't so much that I want to do this, as that I have to... if I want to keep the gifts I've for some reason been given." He chuckled to himself. "The Variety Club of Great Karma clearly decided I was a deserving charity case."

There was a long silence as Ethan poked at the shingle with a piece of driftwood, and Ian, apparently, just waited. Finally, Ethan looked up at the other man and said simply, "Help me?"

Ian smiled and clasped his shoulder. "All you had to do was ask."

***

As soon as Lucy and he had returned to the house, Giles went looking for Ethan. He'd finally tracked him down in the cove past the village. He had, in fact, found Ethan remarkably easily; just good luck, Giles supposed. His lover was sitting cross-legged on the sand, staring out at the sea when Giles approached him.

Ethan seemed to become aware of Giles' presence only slowly, but then he smiled without immediately looking up. "Rupert," he said with satisfaction. Turning, Ethan rose to his feet, and Giles found himself being thoroughly hugged.

He was a little surprised at the greeting, but by no means disappointed. "Miss me?" he asked with dry humour, wrapping his arms around Ethan in return.

"It's been an unsettling morning," Ethan admitted quietly, his lips close to Giles' ear. "In the parlance of the locale, I wished you were here." Giles felt him nuzzling softly against his neck.

Having felt the lack of Ethan as much as Ethan had obviously felt _his_ absence, Giles tightened his embrace, a sigh of contentment escaping him. "Trying morning all around then, was it?"

Ethan pulled back a small way, enough to meet Giles' eyes. "What did Lucy do to you, dearheart?"

"She talked a lot about things that she doesn't know the first thing about." Giles heard the indignation that came through in his voice, despite his best efforts to keep it neutral. Giving a bit of a rueful smile, he admitted, "And she may have got under my skin more than a little bit."

Ethan moved his hands up to gently hold Giles' head, fingers weaving through his hair. Soft kisses were pressed onto Giles' cheeks and forehead. "We need to get her out of there then. Only one person has those trespassing rights."

Giles closed his eyes under the light touches. "I'm not sure if trespassing is the right word in reference to you. More like you've moved in."

Ethan's chuckle puffed warm air against Giles' skin. "And like that tree in the song that's standing by the waterside, I'm staying put."

"Good." Giles paused and then heard himself say, "Lucy thinks I'm using you for your magic."

Ethan pulled back again, his expression incredulous. "Does she know you at _all_?"

Feeling warmed by Ethan's reaction, Giles leant in and kissed him, a kiss which grew and developed and almost looked set to lead to sex on the beach except that they were really too old for that sort of thing now, and anyway, Giles could hear voices. Reluctantly parting their lips, they remained in each other's arms as a family of four approached and walked past them. The father cast an angry glare in their direction.

Ethan's fingers twitched against Giles, who thought he knew what Ethan was thinking. Then Ethan said inexplicably, "The sea's calm today."

Giles examined Ethan's expression for a long moment before admitting, "I expect that's supposed to mean something more than just a comment about the weather, but I'm not sure what."

"It means I've put on my habit, shaved the tonsure in my hair, and renounced my worldly chattels, my dear. All for the love of you."

"Ah." Giles smiled. "You've met Ian."

Ethan narrowed his eyes at Giles. "Some warning would have been kind."

"Would it really have helped if I had?"

Ethan looked away again, back out to the sea. His expression was sad and contemplative. After a few moments, he sighed. "Forty years of Chaos... It's been a good marriage as marriages made in hell go. The divorce is going to hurt."

Giles touched Ethan's cheek gently. "It means a lot that you're willing to even try." He'd promised himself he would never ask Ethan to do this, not after what had happened after Eyghon when he had asked, more or less. But he couldn't deny that he worried about what Chaos would do to Ethan, and indeed, what it had already done.

Ethan snuggled closer. "I am likely to become unbearable company for a while, I'm afraid. We should warn the girls. Have you seen them since breakfast?"

"Lucy took them out riding and for a picnic," Giles said. He smiled, remembering the girls' excitement. "We'll be lucky if we see them before supper."

Ethan nodded. "Fancy some fish and chips then? We could compare homework. I could do yours and you could do mine. They'd never know." He winked at Giles, the familiar smirk back on his lips.

"I'm afraid I'll have to go back to Lucy to get any homework. The session rather deteriorated when she'd accused me of using you for your magic." Giles didn't mention that at the time he'd been ready to end the sessions for good. If Ethan was willing to try to leave Chaos behind, the least Giles could do was give working with Lucy another shot.

"Oh," Ethan seemed uncertain. "Are you changing your mind?"

"Changing it back more like. I'll keep trying as long as you are." He gave Ethan a grin. "After all, I can't very well let you have the high moral ground in this relationship, can I?"

Ethan smiled back then rested his head on Giles' shoulder; he seemed tired. "What did the deluded witch think you were using my magic for?"

"She's under the impression that because I don't use my own magic very often, I'm attracted to you because of yours."

Giles could feel Ethan tense in his arms. "Oh."

He frowned. "You're not buying into that load of rubbish, are you?"

"Fish and chips?" Ethan asked again, drawing back, his tone artificially bright.

"Ethan." Giles refused to let him go. "You don't believe that, do you?"

Ethan sighed. "I was magic-free when we first became lovers again; I've not forgotten that. But Rupert, you know perfectly well you're attracted to my magic, just as I'm attracted to yours."

Considering what had precipitated them coming here, he could hardly deny that. But still... "If that's true, it's because the magic belongs to you, not because you have magic. It's you, not the magic, that's the important factor here."

Ethan moved to kiss Giles briefly. "We're like Pavlov's dogs reacting to learned stimuli from our irresponsible youth. Rupert, old chum, I really do need to eat and sit down, preferably not in that order. The exercises the Great Master set this humble apprentice were, frankly, exhausting, and I'm not allowed to restore myself the easy way anymore."

"Of course," Giles said immediately. Ethan did indeed look tired. "Shall we go find the fish and chips you mentioned?"

"Nice to see you can take a hint eventually." Ethan laughed and slipped his hand into Giles'.

***

"Sherry?" Lucy offered. It was late evening. Ethan was in bed, drained of energy, and the girls were doing their clean up chores, which left Giles alone with the senior witch in the living room, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

"Please," he answered, thinking it couldn't hurt to have some alcohol with this particular conversation.

Lucy filled two of the small glasses with an unusual looking cream sherry and brought one across to Giles before sitting in the chair nearest to him. "So, are you over your little snit now?" she asked, smiling wryly.

Giles sighed, wondering why he ever thought he'd be the one starting this conversation. "I wouldn't exactly call it a snit," he said mildly.

"Ruffled feathers?" Lucy offered helpfully.

"I'm willing to do whatever exercises you set for me," Giles said, getting out what he had been rehearsing. "I'll listen with an open mind to what you have to tell me and give it honest thought." He met her eyes. "Ethan is non-negotiable."

She looked at him carefully in that way Giles knew he was destined to become heartily sick of before their time in Devon was over. "Did you imagine that I intended to somehow interfere with your relationship?"

"You certainly made some implications in that direction," he replied as mildly as he could.

"I stand by what I said, but please don't think that I disapprove of your relationship with Ethan. On the contrary, I consider it a thoroughly good thing for the both of you."

"Even if it's his magic that attracts me?" Giles asked, parroting her words back to her, his voice carrying an edge.

She sighed. "If you must quote me, quote me correctly. I said you were attracted to his magic and that you were using it. I did not say, and I do not believe, that this is all your relationship is. That is quite evidently not so. You have a palpably strong bond."

Geared up to press the point until she capitulated, it was something of a letdown to have her completely agree with him. "All right then," he said, a bit lamely. "Just as long as we have that clear."

She smiled knowingly at him and nodded. "Exercises are a good idea. We need to make you more at ease with your power. Are you ready to start, or would you rather wait until the morning?"

Giles bit back on his initial response of 'morning' as he knew it was only because that would let him put this off that much longer. Instead, he forced a smile and something that had a vague resemblance to enthusiasm into his voice and said, "There's no time like the present."

"Good." Lucy put her sherry glass down on the side and rose from her chair, only to sink down to her knees in front of Giles. "Give me your hands," she instructed, holding out her own, palms up.

Swallowing his unease, Giles put aside his own glass and did as he was asked.

Lucy grasped his hands, and Giles could feel her power as it rode his veins, travelling up his arms to fill him. It felt wrong. It felt invasive. Her magic was very different from Ethan's, cold and clean, like ice-chill mountain spring water. "_Tintinnabula_," she murmured. Within Giles' head, a bell began to softly toll.

He frowned, shaking his head, a reflexive attempt to still the ringing. "Wha–"

Letting go of his hands, Lucy rose to her feet. "You can stop it anytime you like."

With his magic, of course. It wasn't really much of a challenge, even with the ringing making it a little difficult to concentrate. He allowed just a touch of his magic free to silence it. "Is that the exercise?" he asked, automatically locking down his power...

The bell began ringing again.

"Yes, this is the exercise. I don't consider you ready for anything more challenging yet. Try this for twenty-four hours, and we'll review tomorrow night." Taking their empty sherry glasses with her, she began to leave the room. "Good night, Rupert. Sleep well, won't you."

Giles heard her chuckle as she headed off down the hall.

The ringing was beginning to get annoying, so Giles silenced it with his magic again, being careful to maintain the flow this time. It took a not inconsiderable amount of concentration to keep the flow just right, and Giles didn't have high hopes for getting much sleep that night while attempting to do this. With that cheerful thought in his mind, he headed upstairs. Even if he couldn't sleep, at least he could lie down.

He'd expected to find Ethan curled up in bed, fast asleep; he had been bone-weary and forbidden from using his magic to restore himself. So it was surprising to find Ethan wrapped in Giles' old robe and sitting cross-legged on the bed covers. His eyes were closed and his face strained.

"Ethan?" Giles asked softly, not wanting to startle the other man.

Ethan turned a bleary gaze to him. "In the parlance of our young charges, this 'sucks rocks'." Ethan sighed wearily and held out an inviting hand, frowning as he looked more carefully at Giles. "What's wrong?"

"Lucy's decided I don't need to sleep tonight," he replied drily, sitting on the bed and reaching out to take Ethan's proffered hand.

Ethan's frown deepened as their hands touched. "You're using magic."

"Yes."

He wriggled over on the bed to sit nearer to Giles, snuggling close and nuzzling his head into Giles' neck. "Mmm..."

"Why do I suddenly feel like the sunlight to your cat?" Giles asked, wrapping his arms around Ethan. "Not that I'm complaining, mind."

"Meow," Ethan chuckled. "You taste divine, my dear. What are you casting?"

"Counterspell. Lucy bespelled a bell into my head. To keep it quiet I have to keep feeding it magic."

"Easy enough," Ethan commented, and to increase the cat metaphor, he seemed to be intent on washing Giles' neck with his tongue. But then he stopped suddenly and pulled back, his expression deeply sympathetic. "Only it isn't easy, is it? Oh Rupert."

Giles smiled, warmed by the concern. "It's not that bad," he said, downplaying it. "Just a matter of maintaining concentration."

"For how long?"

"Twenty-four hours." He tried to sound casual.

Ethan shook his head. "That's hardly meant to be a matter of maintained concentration then," he stated.

"It's either that or her attempt to drive me insane," Giles said drily.

"Rupert...?" Ethan asked carefully, rubbing Giles' nearest thigh lightly. "You are aware there's a third option, aren't you?" Giles gave him a questioning look, and Ethan elaborated. "Cast the counterspell in such a way that it's self-maintaining, softly drawing on your magic at all times. You won't even be aware it's doing it after a while and then at least one of us can get some sleep." He smiled encouragingly.

"I'm not sure that would work," Giles admitted. "But I'll try it if this gets too much. That does bring up the question though, love," Giles said, running his fingers lightly over Ethan's face. "I can feel how exhausted you are. Why aren't you asleep?"

"Strung out in heavens not-so-high, dear," Ethan replied wryly. "Craving a fix of my own junk. And I'm also a little worried. I'm not sure either of us realised quite how much or how often I've been repairing the damage done to this old body by my fun little time behind bars."

Alarmed by that admission, Giles pulled back enough to look over Ethan. "What's wrong?"

"Chaos isn't suited to healing, as you know. I have to use three times as much power to get a third of the result. I've so much magic now that it's not been a problem, and I've been repairing wear and tear as best I can. Darning patches over patches really as my healing doesn't last long. Underneath it all, I have a rather horrid suspicion that I'm still as ill as I was the morning my magic first came back to me."

Giles didn't like the sound of that at all. "We'll talk to Lucy in the morning, see about having the Coven's healers take a look at you," he decided.

"And what about you, dearheart?"

Giles waved that away. "Don't worry about me. The worst I'm going to end up with is a sleepless night, and lord knows, it won't be the first one." A thought occurred to him. "Does feeling my magic help?"

Ethan didn't answer. Instead, he leant forward to kiss Giles. Obligingly, Giles kissed him back, pulling him closer. Operating on the theory that Ethan's earlier reaction was answer enough to his question, Giles let the flow of magic he was using to block Lucy's spell increase, hoping the added energy would help Ethan. Surprisingly, it also made maintaining the flow easier, and Giles was able to lessen his concentration.

Ethan moaned softly as Giles' power use increased, and without breaking the kiss, he began to tug at Giles' jumper and t-shirt. "Skin please," he muttered against Giles' lips.

Shifting back slightly, Giles pulled both articles of clothing over his head, tossing them aside. Then he wrapped Ethan up in his arms again, sliding his hands underneath the robe his lover was wearing. "Better?"

"Yes. Much." Ethan wriggled, apparently trying to get as much skin to skin contact as possible. "Why am I not believing it coincidental that your homework happens to involve constant magic expenditure at a time when mine means I'll be craving it?"

"Because you're an old cynic," Giles said, dropping a kiss lightly on Ethan's forehead. "And because you're not stupid."

"Hmm," Ethan said, his breath warm on Giles' skin. "Maybe we'll get a little sleep, after all."


	8. Chapter 8

"I don't want to hear another word from either of you. It was irresponsible and selfish, and you should be..." Ethan trailed off as he realised quite how much like a harried mother hen he was sounding. "And your most capital crime is, of course, making such monstrous clichés spill from my mouth."

"Relax," Kat told him, wincing as Rupert dabbed at the gash on her leg. "It's just a scratch– Ow!"

"Scratches generally don't bleed like that," Rupert said mildly.

The two Slayers had, for some reason far from obvious to Ethan, decided that a spot of early morning rock-climbing was just the thing to build up an appetite for breakfast.

"The cliffs here are hardly Everest," Ethan pointed out. "So I won't accept an excuse of 'because it was there' when I ask _why_?"

Megan, whose ripped up arm Ethan was currently bandaging with ill grace, grimaced. "Miss Harkness told us there were smugglers' caves down there."

"And this made them irresistible?" Rupert asked in his driest of tones.

"Looked like fun," Kat shrugged. "We'll be healed before the day's over, Giles. There's no need for all this fuss."

"We'll take equipment with us next time," Megan promised, not meeting Ethan's glare as he stepped back from her. He didn't say anything, letting his expression talk for him.

"I realise that this perhaps isn't your ideal vacation spot," Rupert began, looking seriously at both girls, "and that you're bored–"

"We like it here!" Megan interjected then looked down, embarrassed. Ethan sighed and walked back to her, putting his hand on her shoulder.

It was a glorious understatement to say that he was bad at this. It wasn't just his all too vivid fear of losing those he now cared about; it was knowing how to be a responsible adult. Two months at playing untrained Watcher were not enough to teach him how to discipline unruly youngsters, and the forty years wielding Chaos were certainly no help; discipline and Chaos not generally being on good speaking terms.

Ethan gave Rupert a rather helpless look. The last couple of days had been difficult for both of them as they'd wrestled with the magic-related tasks set by their respective coven mentors. Sleep, even curled tightly against one another, was becoming increasingly fractured. Ethan was sure Rupert felt no more like dealing with the foolhardy Slayers than he did, but at least Rupert had the necessary skills.

Rupert sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "While I am gratified to hear that you do like it here, I fully realise that we haven't had as much time for you as we normally do. You have our apologies for that, but it doesn't excuse you going out and doing something so inherently dangerous." He looked directly at Kat. "Yes, you will heal, but that doesn't negate the risk you were taking, or the fact that you could've broken your necks. And Slayer or not, that would have been the end of you."

Ethan cringed at the last words, his hand reflexively tightening on Megan's shoulder, and she looked up at him miserably, saying, "I'm sorry."

"_We're_ sorry," Kat corrected. "Really, we'll be more careful. And anyway, we have to be good today. Miss Harkness' sister is taking us along with her sons to Woolacombe for the afternoon, and Miss Harkness says she'll turn us into hares if we're bad."

"And you think I wouldn't?" Ethan asked, a little off-put by this news. "These _sons_...?"

"Know better than to get into any trouble," Rupert finished. He gave the two Slayers his most stern look. "I trust that you are going to prove that you do as well."

"Yes, sir," Kat said with false meekness, humour glinting in her eyes. Megan thumped her on the arm, and fierce looks were exchanged.

"You don't need to worry about us," Megan said with a far more genuine sincerity. Her gaze moved between the two men, but it was Ethan she focused on when she promised, "I'll make sure."

He found that embarrassing doting smile back on his face.

"Um, can we go now?" Kat asked. "Miss Harkness said we could help her in the stables if we had time."

"Go on," Rupert said. He watched them scamper out then collapsed on the sofa, letting his head fall back against the cushions. "That, I didn't need."

Ethan started to sit down beside him, but then straightened suddenly as he felt an intrusion that was fast becoming commonplace in his mind. "Sod it!"

Rupert gave him a sympathetic look. "Being summoned?"

Ethan nodded and rubbed his face. "I like Ian; really, I do. But, well..." He looked down. "I've only willingly acknowledged one man my master before now. I'm far from used to doing what I'm told... although that's rubbish, of course. He hasn't given me an order yet; that's not his 'way'."

"But you still find yourself doing whatever he suggests," Rupert said, with a wry smile.

Ethan looked at Rupert and felt a surge of something strong but undefinable at the idea of having to leave him again today, something that made him feel sad and uneasy. "Ah well, maybe I'll actually be allowed to do a cantrip today, you never know." Ethan's tone was dry, but there was an edge to it. He walked to the side of the sofa and bent to kiss Rupert softly. "Take care, dearheart. Don't let her push you into anything you're not ready for."

Rupert reached up, sliding a hand to the nape of Ethan's neck and pulling him in for another, deeper kiss. "The same goes for you, love. Don't let him wear you out too much."

Allowing the unease to slip temporarily away under Rupert's touch, Ethan smiled. "That's your job, m'dear. Never fear."

***

Ethan slipped through the trees, following unerringly the sense of 'Ian' that had been placed in his head. It was another sunny day, and the forest floor was a dappled light show from the shadow-casting leaves moving in the breeze. Ethan supposed he should be enjoying the natural chaos of the resultant patterns, but he was more concerned about his lungs currently.

They were wheezing again.

Rupert had tried to ask Lucy for the help of the coven healers, but she'd refused, saying something mysterious and annoying about karmic appropriateness that had made Rupert rather miffed to say the least. Ethan had calmed and reassured his lover, claiming to be fine, but he really wasn't, and he suspected Rupert knew that.

When Ethan found Ian, sitting with his back to a broad beech and chewing on a liquorice stick, it was with a sense of relief. Ethan slumped down beside his mentor, trying to relax and take deep breaths.

"Problem?" Ian asked, after a moment of silence broken only by Ethan's wheezing as he slowly recovered from the exertion.

"You could say that."

"How long had you been surviving on Chaos?"

"Since I was a child," Ethan laughed without humour. "But you don't mean that, do you? For nearly four years, I was..." He paused, wondering if there was any point is talking about this. Ian being what he was, he probably already knew the pertinent facts of Ethan's imprisonment. Ethan returned to the question asked. "A few months. There's damage, and it's starting to show."

Ian grunted. "Just because you were covering it up doesn't mean it wasn't there. If you hadn't stopped, it would've eventually killed you despite the power you were using."

"You have to die of something," Ethan shrugged. "I've been using that particular spell since I was a teenager. I'm habituated to it, you might say." He thought about that while he took a breath. "It's possible that the reason I was quite so ill while I was... away... wasn't just to do with how I was being treated."

"Quite possible," Ian agreed. He glanced sideways at Ethan. "It's going to get worse before it gets better."

"Goody," Ethan replied drily. "I can expect no help with this, I take it?"

"Not until the Chaos energies are completely out of your system," Ian told him seriously. "That's the price that must be paid."

"I see. Perhaps we could start meeting closer to the house?" Ethan grinned flippantly at Ian. He refused to allow himself to think about the full meaning of what he'd just been told, at least not yet. His lungs weren't catching anymore, but he knew they'd start again on the long walk back. The idea that he might be returning to the condition he'd been in while the Initiative held him captive... no, he most certainly didn't want to consider it.

"Nothing's going to be asked of you that's beyond your capability." Which was about as much of an answer as Ian ever gave.

"Yes, well, I love meaningless new age rhetoric as much as the next invalid, but shall we get to work?" It was possible Ethan was feeling a little pissed off.

He noticed wood ants carrying pieces of leaf and bark in front of them and automatically began a small warding spell. But he stopped himself before the magic moratorium was broken. Then he noticed the ants actually _were_ avoiding the small area the men were sitting in, and he chuckled a little. At least Ian seemed not to want to add a painful ant bite to Ethan's ills.

Ian noticed his attention. "You think you could turn them away?"

"Of course."

The older man gestured, and Ethan felt the small ripple that announced Ian dismissing his spell. "Show me."

"I'm allowed to use my magic again?" Ethan asked, confused and a little alarmed too, as the ants, of which there seemed an increasing number, were rapidly getting closer. He didn't like ant bites.

"That's the point of this whole association, isn't it?" Ian asked. "To get you using _your_ magic instead of Chaos?"

"Oh," Ethan replied glumly. "I see." He stood up. "You know, I really don't see what's so wrong with bricks and mortar, Ian."

Ian didn't move save to raise the licorice stick back to his mouth. "Nothing, if you're building a house. We're talking about magic though."

Ethan grimaced and tried to ignore his awareness of the ants sufficiently to close his eyes and reach out with his senses in the way that Ian had spent the last couple of days teaching him to do. There were random patterns in everything natural, and it was these patterns that Ian's wild magic drew its power from. Ethan had used them himself, many times, in his own, darker rituals. But he had twisted and perverted the natural forms, making a slave of nature rather than a friend.

Now he had to somehow work with the grain rather than impose an unnatural shape upon it. Frankly, for all Ian's guidance so far, Ethan had no idea how to start.

It didn't help that the call of the Chaos inside him was doing its damnedest to lure him onto the rocks.

"You can do this, Ethan," Ian said softly, encouragingly. "Find the place where you can nudge the pattern. Work with the randomness that's already there."

Ethan tried; he really did.

His problem wasn't a lack of awareness of the patterns. He very quickly became alert to the invisible trails of the ant traffic and the shapes that they made across the forest floor. Ethan's difficulty lay in understanding how to persuade, rather than force, the patterns to move. He'd reach out with power, only to then realise that he was doing what he always did, pinpointing weak spots and tearing them apart, or targeting nodes, forcing them to move where they didn't want to go. He knew force was wrong here, but he was failing to grasp something essential about how Ian wanted him to do this.

Eventually, covered with a clammy layer of sweat, he asked raggedly, "Show me?"

Ian regarded him for a long moment then silently reached out his hand to Ethan. When Ethan took it, the older man, with a single deft nudge, changed the pattern, directing the ants away from where they stood.

Nothing was broken or even damaged. The patterns were all still sound. "How did you do that?" Ethan asked weakly.

"There's a randomness to every pattern. Different ways the pattern could be, depending on random factors. Change one of those factors, you change the pattern."

The words sounded good, but seemed meaningless in practice to Ethan. "How can you see the... possibilities. I don't... I can't."

"They're there," Ian assured him. "If you can find the places to rip the pattern apart, you can find the places to change its path. It just takes practice and experience."

Ethan wiped the sweat from around his mouth with a shaking hand. "But it's so easy to rip it. I can see exactly where. I could just reach out, draw on my power..." Unconsciously, his hand was raising, power surging to his fingertips.

"Ethan!" Ian snapped, censure and disapproval strong in his voice. It was enough to startle Ethan before he could do anything. In a quieter voice, Ian told him, "I think we're done for the day."

Ethan felt shame and reacted to it with quickly repressed anger then studied insouciance. "Changing your mind, Ian? Maybe I'm not meant for your kind of magic, after all. Maybe I was always meant for Chaos." The words felt good, and Ethan let himself listen further to the wild lorelei voice inside him that was singing 'come to me'. He wanted his power back.

"Do you truly believe you were always meant to commit slow suicide?" Ian asked bluntly. "Because that's what giving yourself to Chaos is doing."

"Keeps me thin," Ethan said flippantly, smirking.

"Oh, that it will do. I'm sure Rupert, Megan and Kat will enjoy watching you turn into a living skeleton."

Ethan's smirk twisted up into a grimace, and he looked down. The smug old bastard didn't play fair. Sighing heavily, Ethan looked up again. "Right. Same time tomorrow then," he announced breezily.

Ian gave him an understanding look. "I know it's difficult, but you can do this, Ethan. With time and work–"

"Do you ever stop wanting it?" Ethan interrupted, suddenly needing to know. "Does the craving go away? Or is my presence, my magic, driving you mad under that wiser-than-thou façade?"

"The pull is always there," Ian responded, expression serious. "But it gets easier with time to resist. The longer you go without it, the easier it is to continue denying it. And it's nothing compared to what I have now."

Other than the ever-present cry of 'I can't do this', Ethan had no answer to that, so he nodded glumly at the other man and started walking back the way he had come.

***

"So what hoops have you set up for me to jump through today?" Giles asked, as he followed Lucy up the stairs to the first floor.

"I thought we'd try a guided visualisation," Lucy replied with equanimity. "To help you with some of those blocks that are proving a little stubborn." She led him down the corridor and opened a small door to reveal a narrow staircase going up again.

Giles tried to convince himself that that didn't sound ominous as he followed her up into a part of the house he'd never seen before. It was, for want of a better phrase, an artist's loft. The attic space had been floored and furnished. Bright sunlight poured through large skylight-style windows in the roof, hitting a network of hung prisms on the way and splitting into dappled rainbows across the beige carpet and soft white floor cushions.

There was a small wiccan altar off to one side, and an arrangement of pleasingly shaped boulders in the centre. Lucy gestured to the cushions. "Make yourself comfortable. It is important that you can reach and maintain a good state of relaxation, so bear that in mind."

She walked over to the altar and busied herself with a charcoal brick and some powdered incense.

Giles obediently made his way over to the cushions and sat down, shifting around until he found a position that he could stay in for a while. Guided meditations were something that he'd continued to have experience of, even without his magic, although he was more often the guide than the guided. Still, it was a tool that he'd employed more than once in his duties as Buffy's Watcher, and as such, the prospect didn't cause the same anxiety that many of Lucy's other exercises had.

A rich and strangely evocative smell started to fill the room from the incense. It was familiar somehow. Perhaps it was one that Anya had liked to burn in the Magic Box. There was a click, then gentle new age music –of the inane, characterless type that Giles had always despised– filtered through the room.

Lucy settled herself cross-legged nearby to Giles. "Would you like me to talk you through relaxation, or are you capable of doing that for yourself?"

"I believe I remember the basics," Giles said drily, closing his eyes and going through the familiar process, until he had managed a light trance.

In this relaxed state, the music seemed less inane and more an aid to gently drifting. When Lucy started to speak, she spoke quietly, her voice modulated to fit with the tones of the music so that it wasn't an unpleasant jolt. "You are climbing a gentle hill. It's a pleasant day, and you want to see the view from the top..."

Her words seemed to paint a picture, create a reality, and in his mind, Giles found himself where her voice had placed him, just cresting the top of a hill. Looking around, he saw a fine panorama of rolling hills and grassy dales.

"There's a cairn at the top, a pile of carefully built up rocks. Underneath, you can hear the faint sound of water trickling..."

Giles saw the cairn, a bunch of grey stones, weathered and eroded into an even closer fit than they'd probably had when they had first been put together. The sound of moving water echoed in his hearing.

"It's a hot, sunny day, and you invested a lot of energy into the climb. You're very thirsty..."

He wiped the sweat from his face and looked up at the sky, and the sun beaming brightly down upon him. His mouth was dry, and the sound of water was only making him thirstier.

"Walking around the cairn, you discover there's a rock you can roll away, revealing a short drop into a cavern below..."

There had to be a way to get at that water he could hear. Giles examined the cairn, moving around it to check all sides. On the opposite side from where he'd arrived, he discovered one of the larger stones at the bottom was loose. Managing to shove it aside, he revealed an opening into a subterranean cave.

"You can hear the water trickling below. You must have found the source of a stream. Cool, crystal clear spring water awaits you below..."

The sound of the water that had so lured him was coming from the cave; it made Giles' mouth feel even more parched. There was obviously a stream below, and it wasn't that far a drop. It only took a moment's thought to reach the decision to lower himself into the cave.

".The water tastes sweet and pure on your tongue, and soon your thirst is quenched. It is only then that you realise there is no way back up to the cairn..."

He knelt and drank long and deep, relishing the feel of the cool clear water sliding down his throat. When he was finished, he stood and looked at the opening he had dropped through, realising that it was beyond the distance he would be able to jump.

"But the cavern itself is quite large, and the water is clearly flowing somewhere..."

Well, there was nothing for it, he was going to have to find another way out. Giles looked around; the place was large, but with no other obvious exits. His gaze drifted back to the stream; it was going somewhere, and it would provide a good way of tracking his progress. He only hoped he didn't run out of cave.

With one last glance at the hole above him, Giles started walking, following the spring.

"Away from the hole in the cavern ceiling, darkness soon surrounds you, and you have to feel your way carefully. But the darkness is comforting and womb-like. You feel safe. And the stream is growing as more trickles of water join it..."

As Giles left the original cavern behind him, the light dwindled down to nothing, leaving him in darkness so complete it was almost a physical thing. Surprisingly though, it wasn't distressing in any way, feeling like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

Still, he couldn't help but wish he had a torch with him.

"As you delve ever further into the caves, following the swelling brook, your eyes begin to adjust, and you realise it isn't so dark, after all. The water itself seems to hold a natural luminescence that you can see by, so long as you stay close to its edge..."

At first he thought he was imagining it, but gradually it became clear that the stream was giving off a dim light, which would be unnoticeable in anything but this total darkness. But dim as it was, it was enough to let him see his footing, and as long as he lingered close to the banks, he could make good speed.

"The brook becomes a river, and as the river broadens and deepens, the light increases, and with it a sense of excitement..."

As he walked the water's flow grew, becoming a more than respectably sized river. The light grew in time with the water, and Giles was beginning to have the feeling that he was heading towards something... something amazing.

"The flow of the river is faster now. You bend and dip your hand into it and feel the clean cold flow pulling on you. The feeling of excitement increases..."

Giles kept close to the water as he continued forward, feeling drawn now. The water called to him and he knelt, dipping his hand in, letting it swirl around his fingers. It was cold, and the feel of that seemed to seep into his skin, climbing up his arm and spreading through his body, carrying with it a growing sense of unease.

"Suddenly you realise that the way ahead holds no safe path beside the river, and to go further, you will need to enter the fast flow and move with it. The idea feels right to you, pleasing..."

Ahead of him, the path he'd been following disappeared, the water was the only way forward. It called to him, trying to entice him to enter it, to travel with it, but...

At the same time that he was being called forward, something in Giles was telling him to stay where he was, to back up even. As much as the water called to him, there was an equal force telling him it was dangerous.

He hovered on the river's edge, caught between the two conflicting feelings, paralysed into indecision.

"It's time to get into the river now, Rupert. Step into the flow..."

He couldn't go forward, but he had to. There was no way back. His heart pounding with anxiety, Giles moved his foot, beginning to step into the waters...

Something grabbed his ankle, pulling him in and under. He couldn't get free, couldn't breathe, couldn't see what had him beyond something large, black and malicious. Something that would destroy him if he didn't get free of the water and stay far, far away from it.

"Rupert? Rupert, what's happening?" The voice sighed heavily. "Rising to the surface now, and you're out of the water. You're on dry land, outside the caves now. Returning to normal consciousness now. On the count of five then you'll open your eyes. One... two... three, four, five. Open your eyes, Rupert."

Ending a meditation suddenly –especially one as deep as this– was never pleasant, but in this case it was more pleasant than the alternative. His awareness fully back in the loft, Giles shuddered and pressed a shaking hand to his eyes. He could still feel a ghostly echo of the grip the thing had had on him.

Giles could hear Lucy moving around the room, turning off the music and snuffing out the incense. Even without looking at her, Giles could tell she wasn't pleased so her terse tone of voice wasn't a surprise when she said, "Well, that was very far from successful."

"Unless the goal was to make me dizzy and nauseous, I would most heartily agree." He shifted, leaning back against the wall, taking deep, even breaths and waiting for the room to stop spinning.

He heard her moving again; then a glass was pressed into his hand. "You are fighting this process every step of the way, Rupert. You need to decide once and for all if you really want my help because I'm not prepared to drag you kicking and screaming through this."

"Is that a promise?" Giles asked drily.

She sighed again. "I suggest you take the rest of the day to decide what you really want out of this. You have to want to change, and currently, I really don't believe that you do."

Beginning to feel a bit peevish, Giles asked, "I'm here, aren't I? I've done whatever you've asked me to, haven't I?"

"No, Rupert, you haven't." She was standing in front of him now, with her hands on her hips. "You have steadfastly failed to do what I have asked you to because you won't let go. You're like a child afraid to have the stabilisers removed from his first bike."

He didn't deny the fear. "I can't change my feelings just on your say so. It doesn't work that way."

"On my say so? No, of course not. Only you can change your feelings, but you have to want to. And frankly, Rupert, I think you're happy to stay just the way that you are. I think you're only here to hold Ethan's hand, and if it weren't for your lover, you'd simply not have come."

For Giles, who was exhausted from lack of sleep and trying to overcome the instincts and fears of a lifetime, and who was still more rattled than he'd admit from the failed meditation, that was the proverbial last straw. "You're right," he said in short, clipped tones, pulling himself to his feet. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Ethan. That doesn't mean that I haven't honestly been trying. But fine, if you consider it a waste of our time–"

"Rupert Giles." Lucy's voice was dagger sharp, stopping him in his tracks. She looked at him in that increasingly annoying way, cold blue eyes seeming to see into the heart of him. Finally, she said, "Take the rest of the day to consider what you really want. We'll talk later. This has been quite enough for now."

He was quite clearly being dismissed, which was just fine with him. He didn't want to deal with this anymore today. Without another word, he started down the stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Even walking back at a very sedate pace through the forest, Ethan could feel it in his lungs. He wasn't wheezing, but it seemed to take extra effort just to breathe. It didn't help that he had several swollen and throbbing ant bites on his calves and a paranoid sensation that ants were still inside his clothing, crawling around. He was depressed at his failure to grasp Ian's lesson and wracked with the ever-increasing craving for Chaos.

All in all, it hadn't been a good day so far.

Things started to look up, however, as he left the shelter of the trees to find Rupert striding across the meadow towards him. Rupert seemed to have an unerring sense of direction as far as Ethan went; a fact Ethan appreciated a great deal. He stopped and allowed Rupert to reach him before smiling and saying, "They should call you Optrex," referring to the drops for sore eyes.

He got a ghost of a smile in return. "I could say the same about you," Rupert said, reaching out to pull Ethan into his arms.

Ethan was instantly aware of two things. Firstly that Rupert was so tense that he was almost shaking, and secondly, that Rupert was, magically speaking, locked down tighter than he'd been in a very long time. Ethan pushed back enough to look at the other man. "What the hell has she done to you this time?"

"Guided meditation." The tension Ethan had felt in Rupert's form was also clearly visible in his eyes. "It didn't go well." Rupert's voice took on a sarcastic edge. "Apparently, I'm not trying hard enough."

Ethan felt a surge of protective anger on Rupert's behalf. "She's pushing you too hard." He took Rupert's hand in his and tugged it. "Come on, there's a no-longer-standing stone in the corner of this field; I found it yesterday. Let's sit down and talk."

Rupert went willingly enough, although he continued to radiate tension and irritation. Once Rupert was sat on the end of the long, rounded stone, Ethan straddled the rock behind him and ignored his own ills in order to try to calm Rupert down, massaging his shoulders and kissing his hair. "Tell me what happened?"

Rupert sighed, beginning to relax a little under Ethan's hands. "She thinks I'm doing this for you, rather than because I really want to." There was another sigh, and Rupert admitted in a barely audible voice, "She may not be all wrong."

Ethan sighed softly himself and rested his chin on Rupert's shoulder, wrapping arms around Rupert and wishing he wasn't so closed off magically. Ethan badly needed a salve for the Chaos itch. "Does that mean you really don't want to?" he asked. "I'd thought that... Well, didn't we agree that we _both_ needed help?" Ethan found the idea that he was somehow obliging Rupert to go through this unpleasantness rather chilling, but he was equally uncomfortable with the idea of doing this alone.

"We did," Rupert said, covering Ethan's hands with his own. "But... I don't know if it's going to be possible. What Lucy is essentially saying is that I can't wholeheartedly embrace my magic because I'm afraid to, which is quite probably accurate as far as it goes. But her solution is that I should stop feeling that way. Just like that. Apparently, I'm being wilfully terrified, and I should be able to turn my emotions off just because she tells me to."

"Well, that's what you did with your magic, isn't it?" As soon as Ethan shut his mouth again after speaking, he realised he'd just walked out onto thin ice.

Rupert pulled away and turned around to face him. The expression on his face was... one that Ethan hadn't seen for a long time. "So you agree with Lucy."

Ethan hated the look Rupert was giving him. He drew one folded leg up onto the stone and wrapped his arms around it protectively. "Don't. I just meant that you have that strength. You can change huge parts of yourself with a decision. You did it before."

"You think I can just turn my emotions on and off like that."

Miserable, craving his lover's magic like a panacea, Ethan stared at his knee and tried his best to ignore the crawling ants that again seemed everywhere in his clothes. Very quietly, he reiterated, "You did it before."

"I've _never_ turned off my emotions," Rupert said fiercely. "I've sometimes been forced to act in spite of my feelings, which is what I'm _trying_ to do now, but the emotions are still there."

Which meant, presuming Rupert had genuinely loved Ethan when they had been youngsters together, that Ripper hadn't suddenly stopped loving Ethan when he'd turned his back following Randall's death. Rather, Ripper had still loved Ethan, but left him anyway. So what did that make the hate and anger Ethan had been presented with every time he'd haplessly sought out Rupert again after the break up? Guilt? Repressed need?

Suddenly, Ethan felt angry. He lifted his head and smirked cruelly at Rupert as he said, "Well then, I must congratulate you on your acting ability."

Rupert seemed to know exactly what he was referring to. "You think any of those times were easy for me?"

"How would I know?" Ethan asked, his tone weighted with sarcasm. "I was lucky if you'd even deign to spit at me whenever I tried to come near you." Unable to resist the sensation any longer, he began to rake his nails over his arms and legs.

In a nearby tree, a crow cawed.

"What are you doing?" Rupert asked, alarmed. He reached out and grabbed Ethan by the wrists, stilling his movements.

It was a reminder that, whatever had happened in the past, Rupert loved and cared for him now, and that knowledge had rarely been more welcome. "Ants," Ethan explained with a short humourless laugh. "At least that's what it feels like."

Rupert's expression grew more concerned. "What did Ian have you doing now? Are you all right?"

Ethan wriggled on the rock, twisting so that he could rub his legs together. "No, I'm really not. Could I possibly have my hands back?"

"This isn't– What did Ian do to you?"

Shaking his head, Ethan started to tug at his wrists. "Nothing. This isn't Ian's work; it's my own. Many happy karmic returns of the day to me. Hands?"

Rupert let him go, watching him with a cross between concern and sick realisation. "Withdrawal," he murmured. "From the Chaos magic."

"Well, that and real ants," Ethan chuckled nervously, pulling up his trouser leg to inspect the bites. "You're going to have to prepare yourself for me being rather ill, I'm afraid. Ian says I have to sweat all the Chaos out before any genuine healing can take place." He began to rake at his flesh again. "As I feared, I'll more than likely return to how I was just after you rescued me. Only hopefully with more hair."

"There's got to be something to be done that will help, make this easier on you," Rupert said, once again grabbing at Ethan's wrists. "Some kind of... of magical methadone, something that will lessen the effects..." He trailed off, and Ethan saw the moment the knowledge dawned on him. "My magic was helping."

Ethan nodded. "You're like calamine lotion for the soul, dearheart," he said, trying to bring humour into the tense situation. He wasn't going to ask for what he needed, not if it was making Rupert so miserable, but there was little point in denying what Rupert knew to be truth. "Ripper, please. You have to let me scratch."

If anything though, Rupert's grip tightened. "I think there's something else I have to do." His eyes looked a bit wild for a few seconds before his face set into his most determined expression. "Act in spite of my feelings," he murmured and apparently then relaxed all those controls he so stringently and obsessively maintained at other times.

As Rupert's magic slipped over him, cooling and warming somehow simultaneously, Ethan shuddered and whimpered, falling limply against Rupert. The relief was unremitting bliss. "God, oh God," he heard himself muttering. "Thank you."

Rupert wrapped his arms around him, seeming to take as much comfort as he was giving. "No monster yet," he muttered, more to himself than aloud.

"Monster?" Ethan was squirming against Rupert, moving his open mouth across Rupert's face and neck trying to drink in the wonderful magic. It tasted of Ripper. It tasted of everything good in his world.

"The guided meditation was to get me to do, well, this, essentially. Stop controlling and confining my magic. But it didn't feel... I tried anyway, and there was a monster, pulling me under." Rupert sounded almost embarrassed. "Not the most subtle of metaphors."

Ethan paused in his wriggling. "There's nothing to be afraid of; there really isn't. It was never _your_ magic that..." Ethan stopped, shocked by what he was on the verge of admitting. "Heh..."

"What?" Rupert asked, watching Ethan with a strange expression on his face.

He cringed, drawing back from Rupert and the wonderful magic he needed so badly, and looking down at the rock between them. "Well, it's obvious really, isn't it? Your magic is good and orderly, the fruit of a reliable orchard tree. Mine on the other hand is the wild mutant strain. I've been playing with Chaos since I was knee high to a garden gnome, Rupert. Really, if you're looking to place blame for Eyghon, it has to fall on me."

Rupert's fingers gently touched Ethan's face, making him look up. "We're all equally to blame for what happened back then," he said quietly, holding Ethan's gaze. "Don't take it all on yourself. We've all paid a price for our foolhardiness back then."

"Not you," Ethan denied, moving his hands up to cup Rupert's face and kissing him softly, then talking against his lover's lips. "Never your fault. The most you can blame yourself for is not stopping my schemes. Not your magic's fault either. This magic" –he sucked softly on Rupert's lips–"is pure."

"I wore the mark. I said the words and helped cast the spell. The blood is on my hands as much as yours." Rupert sighed, resting his forehead against Ethan's, fingers trailing over his features as if memorising them. "But maybe... I have been throwing the baby out with the bathwater."

Ethan knew Rupert was wrong. Not about the metaphorical babyIt had been Ethan who had found the spell, and Ethan who had nagged and cajoled them all into trying it. And to start with, it had been bloody fantastic. The high of having Eyghon inside him had been transcendental. But Randall hadn't had the strength of the rest of them and had paid the blood price. Ethan's blood price.

Ethan had been living down to that ever since... Well, until he had made the mistake of turning Rupert into a fyarl anyway, making the demon that divided them visible, on the wrong man.

"Never you," he said again.

Rupert kissed him gently, magic and love seeming to pour over Ethan. "Sometimes me," he corrected. "But always us, from now on."

Moaning under the touch of all that was essentially Rupert washing over him, Ethan writhed against him. He slipped his hands under Rupert's upper clothes, seeking more skin-to-skin contact. "Us," he mumbled in agreement into the other man's mouth. "Love us."

"Us are fairly lovable," Rupert murmured, pulling back and trailing a finger down the front of Ethan's shirt. _"Texurum divid,"_ he said, and the shirt fell from Ethan's body. Rupert smiled rather giddily. "Still no monster."

Not quite believing Rupert was doing this, but not wanting to dissuade him by asking if he was sure, Ethan whimpered and tried to pull Rupert closer again. But his conscience, an ignored little voice from the corner for decades, was much stronger now, and Ethan found himself saying in an admittedly shaky voice, "Only as much as you're comfortable with, dearheart. Don't get drunk on this. That's my job."

"Might be a bit late for that," Rupert admitted, the words carrying the undercurrent of giddy laughter. "It's... I haven't felt like this in, well, a lifetime really." His hands were moving aimlessly over Ethan's bare skin, Rupert's gaze following their movement. "I'd forgotten..."

"I hadn't," Ethan said fervently and put his own hands behind him on the rock, leaning back on them and arching into Rupert's touch. "Oh dear God, I hadn't..."

Rupert sat back and looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "You look..."

"Horny as a field of Highland Cattle?" Ethan suggested with a breathless laugh. "Please, Ripper, don't stop..."

"I was thinking overdressed," Rupert said, smiling as he slid his hands along Ethan's thighs. _"Texurum divid,"_ he repeated. The cries of a crow broke the meadow's stillness.

Finding himself suddenly naked under the noonday sun, Ethan groaned and squirmed on the warm stone, possessed by almost unbearable desire for Rupert. "Please," he begged. "Ripper, please. God, I need you."

Rupert leant in, catching Ethan's mouth in a passionate kiss, made all the more so by the magic that continued to radiate from him.

Feverishly, Ethan sat up and wrapped himself around Rupert with arms and legs, so that he was almost sitting in Rupert's lap. Talking into the kiss, he pointed out, "Can't. No magic," as he tugged on the other man's clothing.

Rupert kissed him again and then shifted back just far enough to pull his sweatshirt over his head and tossed it aside. "Better?"

Oh God, warm skin to warm skin, Rupert's magic radiating through him, feeding his starved cells, Ethan was beside himself with need. "Please... please..."

Another kiss, this one longer and more involved than the last one. "Lean back," Rupert murmured against his lips. Holding onto Rupert's shoulders, Ethan did as he was bid and was lowered gently down onto the rock from where he gazed beseechingly up. Rupert pushed Ethan's legs apart and moved down between them. Smiling up at Ethan, Rupert leant in and pressed light kisses against his stomach, slowly moving lower.

"Oh..." Ethan couldn't stop his hips from trying to rise up to meet the kissing mouth. "God, Ripper..." Rupert's hands gripped his hips, his touch warm and electric. A second later, Rupert's mouth closed around his cock.

Ethan emitted a series of non-words as Rupert moved on him, the parts of his brain controlling language having temporarily closed down under the onslaught of sensation. Ripper's mouth, Ripper's magic... it was too much... not enough... oh God. Rupert brought him to the edge time and again, but never let him fall over.

Eventually, Ethan's writhing caused him to hit the back of his head on the rock hard enough to hurt even through the daze of magic-fuelled lust. "Bugger, this rock's bloody hard," he complained, clutching his skull.

"Rocks usually are," Rupert said, surging up to cover Ethan with his body and kiss him, ravaging his mouth like it was impossible for him to get enough. Ethan was sufficiently sensible to keep his hand under his head, but otherwise gave himself up to the consuming kiss, letting Rupert do as he wished. Pushing up with his hips, Ethan ground his cock against the corresponding bulge in Rupert's jeans, moaning.

"Want you," Rupert murmured, finally, pulling back with obvious reluctance. "Turn over." It took a few seconds for Ethan's brain to work out what he was being asked to do, but then he slipped from the rock to kneel beside it in the long grass, and he leant over the top of the fallen stone. He heard Rupert groan, felt his lover's hand trail down his spine. "God, you're... "

Ethan arched back into the touch, Rupert's power-charged fingers seeming to drag the curve of Ethan's spine with them as they moved. "What?" he asked huskily. "What am I?"

"Magic," Rupert told him, his hands sliding down lower, gripping Ethan's hips and moving him until Ethan could feel Rupert's cock pressed against his opening. "Mine." And with that, Rupert slowly pushed inside, magic smoothing the way.

"Christ," Ethan breathed, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the other side of the rock. He pushed back with his hips to meet Rupert, wanting all of him, but Rupert refused to be rushed, keeping to the slow movements that were threatening Ethan's sanity. "No," Ethan complained. "More." He thrust his arse back hard and squeezed his muscles tight.

"Greedy," Rupert groaned, his hands grasping tighter as he gave one hard thrust.

"Oh, yes, like that," Ethan encouraged. "More please." Rupert complied, his every movement sending sparks of magic along Ethan's nerves, making him shudder and squirm on the stone. Every thrust from Rupert pushed Ethan further over the rock. His arms were soon dangling over the other side, grasping at the long grass stems and wild flowers gone to seed.

Rupert's hands holding his hips tightened their grip as if afraid Ethan was going to squirm away entirely as the hard, fast pace continued.

Every time Rupert's cock hit home –and his arse was its home as far as Ethan was concerned– the combination of physical stimulation and magic pulse pushed Ethan ever further into a state of needy bliss. He was on the edge of something, and not just of orgasm. It felt like... well, something like it sometimes had when they were younger and sharing magic, and the experience had taken them both out of themselves and into extremely altered states of consciousness. But this time it was different. This time the magic was all Rupert's, and really, Ethan had never felt precisely _this_ before. There was an appalling, cauterising purity to it.

In the nearby tree, a crow hopped excitedly along a branch.

Pushed painfully against the rock, his cock thankfully now protected by Rupert's fist, Ethan stared down unseeing at the waving grasses, and then suddenly, he _was_ seeing. He was seeing everything.

It was an experience much like staring at a magic eye picture and suddenly clicking onto the three-dimensional image it contained. Every pattern in the meadow was abruptly obvious to Ethan, from the paths of slugs and snails, through the scent marking nodes of resident animals, the mole tunnels under the soil, and the dispersal of dandelion seeds, to the currents of warmth and late summer pollens in the air. He could see it all.

He suddenly understood all that Ian had tried so hard to teach him. He'd been focusing on... on individual stars or small parts of constellations rather than viewing the whole night sky.

"Oh Ripper," Ethan cried out. "God..."

Rupert's rhythm was becoming increasingly ragged and desperate, his magic seeming to swell even more, and there were patterns Ethan could see even in that. Ethan wasn't just seeing it all in three dimensions, he realised; he was seeing the past and future of patterns too. He could see the shape of Rupert's orgasm and the build up to it, and unable to resist, Ethan did what he'd been unable to do with the ants earlier. He tweaked the pattern, persuading it onto a different but equally valid path.

The results were immediate; Rupert's entire body jerked and shook; a wordless cry left his lips as his climax suddenly slammed into him.

The triumph of Rupert's pleasure thrilled Ethan, and his own orgasm soon followed, but he hardly felt his body's twitching. His awareness of Rupert and the world, worlds, was so profound that Ethan's own petty existence seemed just another node within a wild and ever-changing network. Without Rupert to ground him, Ethan thought he might float away altogether, dispersing like the seeds from the dandelion head below him.

He laughed.

***

Giles fell back into the soft grass, pulling his naked laughing lover with him.

His magic seemed to ebb and surge through him like a living thing. He'd forgotten how it could feel, the way it seemed like another sense, like the five he already had all rolled up together. All these years, even when he had grudgingly used his power, he'd kept it tightly controlled, focusing only on the task at hand, the rest rigidly suppressed and locked away, so he never had the benefit of feeling this.

This... this was like suddenly having blinders removed.

Ethan seemed to find something about it all irrepressibly funny. He was still laughing when he wriggled around in Giles' arms to lie half on top of him. Dear Lord, his eyes... There were no whites to Ethan's eyes, and the irises were reddy-brown; his pupils were slightly elongated like an animal's, like a fox's...

For a moment, the old fears touched Giles again, that he'd relaxed his control on his magic and something bad had happened, however irrational the connection seemed.

"Love?" he asked softly, laying a hand against Ethan's cheek.

Ethan blinked, and his eyes were back to normal. Had Giles imagined the changes? Ethan beamed, happiness radiating from him almost palpably. "God, I love you," he said, his tone adoring and ecstatic. There was a slight catch in his breathing again, but he seemed utterly unconcerned by it.

The niggling worry remained, however, and Giles found himself reflexively reaching out with his magic, checking for... he wasn't certain what. But he wasn't expecting what he found, the touch of a brand new magic reaching out to meet his.

Ethan was full of power. Not Giles' magic, and not Chaos, but something new and somehow intrinsically _Ethan_. Something Giles recognised like an old friend, despite being pretty sure he'd never sensed... tasted... _known_ it before.

Ethan laughed again and said, "You really are quite astonishingly beautiful, dearheart."

"So are you," Giles replied, hearing the awe in his own voice, still caught in the new feel of Ethan's magic. "It's... you feel like _you_."

A crow flew overhead, cawing, and Ethan giggled. "After forty years of not being so, it is a little heady, I'll admit. I finally saw what Ian was trying so hard to make me see. But I've been here before, Rupert, been this person before. I lost him a long, long time ago."

Giles tasted it, rolling it around like a fine wine on his tongue. "It's always been there," he said, tracing a finger along Ethan's lips. "It's been hidden, buried under the Chaos and everything else, but it's been there. You've been there." He smiled slightly. "This is the you that was hidden behind all those masks."

Ethan nodded seriously, but couldn't maintain the sombre attitude for long and started grinning again. "If I've dropped the masks, you've opened the doors. You look radiant, Rupert, and therefore, I must assume you're pregnant." He sniggered and sent a light throb of magic skimming over Giles' skin. It tickled considerably.

It pulled a giggle from Giles. "Oh dear," he said, trying to compose himself, only to have another giggle escape him. "We both seem to be rather, ah..."

"Stark bollock naked in a public place?" Ethan suggested. "Oh no, that would be just me."

"I was thinking more along the lines of under the influence, but you do have a point." He slid his hands down Ethan's back, cupping his arse. "You _are_ stark bollock naked."

"Wonder how that happened." Ethan laughed again, his nudity apparently not bothering him at all. He kissed Giles between chuckles. Giles took his time kissing Ethan back, enjoying the way their magics brushed against each other as he languidly explored Ethan's mouth with his tongue. When Ethan pulled back, he had a familiar and very wicked gleam in his eyes.

"I get the feeling I may be in trouble here," Giles said, although he was unable to stop smiling.

"Nice little orgasm you had back there, was it?" Ethan asked, his smirk positively devilish.

Considering that Giles' entire nervous system still seemed to be tingling, he'd have to admit that would be something of an understatement. He had assumed it had just been his own magic adding to the experience. Now he looked at Ethan through narrowed eyes. "You did something."

Ethan winked and moved away from Giles to sit cross-legged in the grass. Giles saw the dark gaze move down to his open trousers and then he felt... something. Something that made him twitch and his breath catch. Something that made his cock start to harden again.

Giles shifted restlessly. "What are you..." he began, breaking off with a gasp as another 'something' went through him.

"I could stop," Ethan offered. "I could make it so much more. Which would you like, Ripper?" He shut his eyes briefly, and Giles felt a thrill strong enough to make him thrust up into the air.

"More?" It came out more question than answer, but Giles was too caught up in the feelings that were suddenly running through him to be paying attention to things like tone of voice.

"Yes, more. It's just a matter of being very persuasive, you see, and I've always had a talent there as I'm sure you'll agree. Think about it, my dear. I can make you come now without ever touching you. Do you trust me with this power?"

The hands-free stimulation was not stopping, and Giles was harder than he had any right to be considering how recent his last orgasm had been. He couldn't tell how or where the invisible, intangible touches were coming, all he knew was that it was one of the most erotic experiences he'd ever had.

But to Giles' mind, the question Ethan asked, despite its teasing tone, required a serious answer. He focused his thoughts with effort long enough to meet Ethan's eyes and say, quite clearly, "I trust you with everything."

There was what looked like relief and gratitude in Ethan's answering expression. While he was clearly enjoying wielding his power in such a way, Giles could only assume Ethan's joking tone had disguised authentic concern.

And then Giles stopped thinking at all for a few moments as the next touch of magic sparkled from his arse down to the tip of his cock, tightening his muscles and making him groan loudly.

He squirmed under the stimulation, becoming frustrated by his movements being restricted by his open trousers. Lifting his lower body, he pushed them down, then wriggled out of them, kicking them aside, leaving him naked under Ethan's gaze.

"Oh..." Ethan breathed and moved forward onto his hands and knees to get closer, but he still didn't touch Giles with anything physical. Small shocks travelled up Giles' spine and over his skin, teasing and tormenting. His muscles were pulled tight in responses he couldn't control, only to be soothed and petted by the next invisible touch.

His hands closing on fistfuls of grass, Giles writhed under the onslaught, unable to anticipate the next sensation, or the next gentle manipulation. There was nothing he could do to move into or away from Ethan's magic; he truly had no control at all in this situation. All he could do was moan and feel.

Ethan's soft whisper intruded into Giles' hazed awareness. "Do you want to come, Rupert? If you ask nicely, I might let you. Of course, I could keep you like this all afternoon if you prefer."

"Oh God," Giles groaned at that thought. Ethan would too; it was the kind of mischief that had always attracted. "Ethan, please..." he managed, but even he didn't know if he was asking for an end or for this to continue.

There was a little breathy sigh from Ethan, who moved closer to Giles' head, bending to almost kiss him, but not letting their lips, or anything else, actually touch. A few more flickering flames of desire were stoked through Giles' body. Then Ethan asked, "Please what? Ask for what you want, dearheart."

"You," Giles replied, holding Ethan's gaze. "I want you."

Ethan's brow creased for a few moments, but then he chuckled. And then finally Giles got to feel his lover physically as lips were pressed firmly to his, and a hard tongue pushed inside his mouth. A jolt of purest pleasure travelled down from the kiss, filling every part of him and stripping him of any form of control, making him buck and...

Giles' scream was muffled by Ethan's mouth as he came harder than he could remember ever experiencing before.

When he came back to himself, Ethan was lying beside him, perched on an elbow and soothing Giles with a gentle hand on his chest. "I got a teensy bit worried there for a few moments," Ethan said softly. "Back with me now?"

"I think so," Giles said slowly, gingerly covering Ethan's hand with his own. "That was rather..."

"Too much?" Ethan asked. He sounded worried and also slightly breathless.

"No," Giles assured him. "But perhaps it's best that we save it for special occasions. That was very intense." Ethan's breathlessness had not escaped his notice. "How about you. Are you all right?"

Ethan nodded. "I've still got quite a bit of the black stuff to burn out. It was good we did this today; things will become trickier for a while soon."

Giles frowned. With what they'd just shared, with his full magic flowing freely through him, it felt even more wrong than it had before that they were to just let Ethan get sicker without providing any treatment. "We'll see about that," he said, pulling Ethan to him. "I'm going to talk to Lucy again."

"There's no need, and no point. I'm fine, Rupert, I promise. I can do this."

You shouldn't have to, Giles thought, but didn't say. Instead, he kissed Ethan gently and said, "I know you can." That didn't change his plans to see what he could do to help however.

Ethan smiled and suddenly sat up, grabbing for Giles' discarded trousers. "Bagsy me not the dirty old exhibitionist," he said, laughing.

Giles reached them first. "How about I go back to the house and bring you some clothes? My lungs being in somewhat better condition?"

Ethan nodded agreeably. "I rather suspect the old crow would like a word with me now anyway." Startled, Giles looked at Ethan and opened his mouth to ask what he was talking about, when a large crow fluttered down and landed on the rock that Ethan had been bent over not so much earlier.

"I don't want to know, do I?"

Ethan chuckled. "I strongly suspect not."


	10. Chapter 10

_ **Then...** _

Rupert Giles took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. God, he was tired. It seemed to him like he'd been sitting in the St Botolph's College reading room forever, or at least long enough that the words had ceased to make sense and were beginning to swim on the page.

Any sane student, he told himself, would call it a night and go to bed. The idea certainly would have appealed to his tired mind, if it were not for the dreams.

Ever since returning to Oxford, he'd worked harder than his fellow students, far harder than was necessary to catch up, driving himself into a nightly oblivion to try to forget, to try to make up for things he never could make up for.

But now he was beginning to wonder if he really shouldn't go to bed after all. He rather thought he was beginning to hallucinate. The text on the open pages of Herrin's Accounts and Histories seemed to be rearranging itself into the lyrics of a well-known and obscene drinking song involving the Good Ship Venus and her unlikely crew.

He frowned and put his glasses back on, running his fingers over the words. If he didn't know better, he'd believe that this was....

Then the smell of burning tobacco reached him, absolutely forbidden in this Council college library of course, and an amused voice he thought he'd never hear again said, "Hello, Ripper."

Giles' feelings in that first moment were so mixed and so complicated that he truly couldn't decipher what they were. Somehow that made it easier to keep his voice level and distant when he asked, "What are you doing here, Ethan?"

To Giles' surprise, when Ethan slunk forward out of the shadows of the bookshelves, he proved to be dressed comparatively plainly, and his hair was cut short and neat. There wasn't a trace of glitter on his face, either. "Ah, so cold. And there I thought you'd be glad to see me." Ethan inhaled deeply on his cigarette and slowly and deliberately looked around the library. "God, it's a wonder you're not dead from the boredom already."

The routine and order of Giles' studies might have been mind-numbing, but it was what he wanted – needed; something that would be least likely to remind him of where he'd been and what he'd done before. Boring wasn't putting his friends and the world at risk. Boring was safe.

"At least I haven't killed anyone lately," he replied.

Ethan's face didn't show even the slightest emotional reaction to that remark. He studied Giles then exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Even Christ only carried his cross for a day, you know. I never realised you were so into hair-shirts."

"What I'm into is not repeating my mistakes." Giles bit back the next words, not wanting to rehash an argument that was never going to be resolved. Sighing, he asked, "What do you want, Ethan?"

"The glasses don't suit you," Ethan said, apparently ignoring the question. He came forward and perched on the edge of Giles' small desk, carelessly pushing books and notes aside to do so. "They make you look dull."

"They make me able to see," Giles replied, leaning back in his chair in an effort to put more distance between them. Having Ethan this close was... unsettling.

Ethan smiled; it was a sly and cruel expression. "And what, pray, do you see now that you didn't before?"

Giles smiled back, the expression feeling stiff and wolfish. "Consequences."

Ethan exhaled parallel streams of smoke through his nostrils. "And that, my dear, is where Chaos wins hands down. The cause and effect chain is broken. I may be the cause, but some other poor bugger gets the effect."

Anger flared at that, all mixed up with guilt and loss and disappointment. "Oh, I'm well aware of that," he said coldly. "Almost as aware as Randall."

Giles thought he saw a brief flicker of pain in Ethan's eyes at that, but it was clearly his over-hopeful imagination as the next thing out of Ethan's smirking mouth was, "Oh, I think you'll find Randall isn't aware of anything very much these days."

Giles reacted before the thought was fully formed to do so in his brain. He lunged out of his chair, his fist connecting with Ethan's face. Taken by surprise, Ethan fell from the desk to the floor in front of Giles' desk, obscured from full view. There was a muffled noise, which Giles eventually deciphered as laughter.

Drained, disgusted with both of them, and tired of not knowing what he was feeling, Giles started gathering up his notes and things in preparation to leave. "Go away, Ethan. It's obvious you haven't changed. There's nothing for you here."

Ethan's hand appeared on Giles desk and the man pulled himself up. A bright red line of blood was making its way down from one nostril and over Ethan's lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing the scarlet. Giles was hit by a flash of memory – Ethan's carefully applied lipstick smeared across his face after a rapacious kiss from the boy Giles used to be.

Ethan gazed down at the blood on his hand and laughed again. "It's warming to know how much you still want to lay your hands on me."

"Just go, Ethan," Giles said tiredly. "Go, so I don't hurt you again." The sight of his former lover bleeding at his hand was disturbing, especially since the feelings it elicited weren't entirely negative.

"Oh Ripper, you've long since lost the power to hurt me," Ethan claimed. "And I'm afraid I'm not ready to leave just yet. I put a lot of effort into getting through the wards your sodding Council's got on this place; the least you could do is stay and be entertaining for a little while."

Why had he even considered the notion that Ethan would make this easy? "Fine," Giles snapped, turning his back on Ethan and going back to gathering his things. "_I'll_ leave."

"Very well. Be sure to take your favourite books with you. I'd hate to leave you deprived of your only friends when I set light to this place."

Giles froze. "You wouldn't." But even as he said it, he knew that Ethan was fully capable of carrying out the threat.

He heard Ethan move closer behind him. "Oh, I think I would. I know that fire magic was always your forte, but I've been studying too. You'd be amazed at how much damage a single Bronart's fire imp could do in a place like this. Well, perhaps more dismayed than amazed."

Giles spun around and grabbed Ethan, shoving him against the wall behind the desk. "You think I'm going to let you do that?"

Ethan automatically raised his hands to protect himself, but he made no attempt to get away. Licking his lips, he drawled, "I'm sure you could distract me if you tried hard enough." The taunt, the feel of Ethan pressed up against him, dear lord, even the way the man smelled, Giles could feel his body reacting to all of it.

He hadn't... not since he and Ethan had broken up. He'd done his best to turn off his libido as well as his emotions and his magic, but lust was coming alive again with a vengeance, an overpowering physical urge that had him grinding his sudden erection against Ethan with an angry growl.

Ethan's eyes flicked half-shut in response, and he moaned quietly, "Oh, my Ripper..." And for that brief moment, Giles was in the past, when being with Ethan had been right – _essential_. For that moment, he forgot the reasons why he'd left and why this was about as wrong as it could get...

Then Ethan's eyes opened and shone with triumph as he gloated. "All those high and mighty morals, my dear; it didn't take long to make you drop them, did it? I should've come visiting sooner." And that was all it took to remind Giles that this wasn't the past, and that if he didn't want to lose himself, the past had to remain just that.

Even so, it was difficult to let Ethan go, to step back and release the other man, to give up that contact. He didn't say anything at first, just turned and picked up his things and started for the door. Ethan might well burn the library down in retaliation, but at that particular moment, Giles couldn't bring himself to care about that. Not when it was his own soul that was on the line.

When he got to the door, he paused and told his own personal demon, "Don't come visiting again, Ethan. I don't want to see you." He couldn't refrain from adding, heartbroken as he was for both of them, a softly begged, "Please."

Then Giles left and didn't look back.

***

_ **Now...** _

Ethan stood up and brushed the grass and other debris from his bare arse. Sitting down on the sun-warmed rock, he addressed the large black-feathered bird beside him. "Better than cable porn, eh?"

The crow cawed and fluffed its wings out. There was shimmer in the air around the bird, and Ethan sensed the shifting of the pattern as it reformed into Ian. The older man smiled sardonically at him. "I seem to have been using the wrong kind of motivations for you."

"I've really only had one motivation for a very long time," Ethan admitted, smiling fondly at the diminishing figure of Rupert, who was just leaving the far end of the field in order to fetch Ethan some clothing. Talking of which... Ethan looked Ian up and down. "The clothes don't change with you then," he remarked.

"Not without excessive complications, no." Ian glanced down at himself. "The only time that's a problem is when it's cold."

"I suppose you could just grow fur in those cases." Ethan felt inside himself, understanding immediately how he could make his light coating of human hair transform into thick animal fur. The transformation to a different species was harder to figure out. Perhaps if he just tweaked there, and then maybe there, and then–

"While I'm quite delighted that you've finally made a breakthrough, I need to remind you that you must walk before you can run, or else you'll fall on your face."

Ian's tone was casual, but there was an edge about it that made Ethan immediately stop playing and undo what he'd just done to himself. "Very well," he agreed. "Are you going to hold my hands while I toddle then?"

"Metaphorically speaking, yes." Ian smiled. "I've grown rather fond of you, m'boy; I'd rather you stayed intact in mind and body."

Ethan bent up one of his legs, resting his foot on the rock and wrapping his hands around his knee. He was actually quite touched by Ian's words, but realised that, as a result, he now had to add another soul to the short but growing list of people Ethan cared about.

Bugger.

"So..." he started, hoping Ian would tell him what was required now.

"First off, anything that involves making changes in yourself or others is dangerous territory."

"Care to tell me why?" Ethan had been looking forward to a spot of shape-changing. Transmogrification had always been something of a speciality of his, after all.

Ian leant forward and held his gaze seriously. "Because if you don't take the proper precautions, you could end up stuck with the brain of... whatever it was you were about to turn yourself into."

"Oh." Ethan shivered, suddenly feeling a chill in the air. "Good job you were here to stop me then." He laughed nervously and looked towards the corner of the field, but really it was far too soon for Rupert to be coming back. "What I did to Rupert just now, was that dangerous too?"

"It could be. Push too far or too intensely and..." Ian trailed off meaningfully. "I would've stepped in before it got to that."

Oh, and wouldn't Rupert have loved that. Ethan sighed heavily, his high from his epiphany turning to glumness. He rested his chin on his knee and stared out across the meadow.

"Don't look so down," Ian told him, squeezing his shoulder. "I swear, sometimes I think you're on some sort of emotional bungee cord; you bounce back and forth so quickly. You've done the hard part; you learnt to look at things a different way. The rest is all just acquiring knowledge and learning finesse."

Ethan frowned at his mentor; it wasn't as if Ethan was gnashing teeth and tearing his hair out, was it? The very most he could be accused of was pouting. "So presuming I don't actually want to maim or kill any loved ones today, what _is_ safe for me to try?"

"For the moment? Focus on seeing the patterns, how they feel, where you can change them," Ian told him. "Focus on the basic elements. Play a little if you like, but small changes, in small areas. Leave the living things alone for now, until we have time to go through it together."

"Who did this for you?" That was something Ethan had wondered about for a while.

"A very irritating and demanding old woman who never let me get away with anything. I fought her tooth and nail on everything, made you look like Saint Francis of Assisi. They probably heard our screaming matches in London." Ian smiled bittersweetly. "I miss her."

Ethan nodded, taking the admission seriously and feeling further touched by it. "Did you... Was there a Rupert for you?"

Ian looked away, but not before Ethan caught the flash of pain that went through the older man's eyes. "Once."

"Oh bugger, I'm truly sorry." Ethan forgot his own troubles and moved closer to Ian, putting his hand tentatively on the thin bare arm. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's all right," Ian said, patting his hand and managing a ghost of a smile. "It was a long time ago, but..."

"I'm sorry," Ethan said again, feeling a bit helpless. He couldn't imagine going on without Rupert now. If something happened to him... Ethan swallowed and squeezed on Ian's arm a little, feeling the strong muscle and bone, but absolutely nothing in the way of fat. It made Ethan wonder how long Ian had wielded Chaos before giving it up.

"You're fortunate," Ian told him after a moment's silence. "Your Rupert was strong enough to leave before... Before he could become part of the price."

And suddenly, Ethan found things he'd believed most of his life turned on their head. Ripper leaving had been a... good thing? "Ian... I... How do you go on?"

Ian smiled, although the grief still hung around him. It had always been there, Ethan realised suddenly; he just hadn't noticed it before. "Because I have to, m'boy. Because I have to."

***

"So you finally took the stabilisers off then?"

Giles paused with his hand on the banister and one foot on the stairs to turn and look at Lucy, who was standing in the doorway to the sitting room. Even after the walk back to the house, his nerves were still tingling from what Ethan had done to him, and his unfettered magic was making everything seem brighter, louder, just more _there_.

"Go ahead, Lucy," he said, in too good a mood to let her get to him. "Get the gloating over with."

"I merely wished to congratulate you," she smiled. "And perhaps ask you to turn it down a notch or two."

"Ah..." Giles blinked and reached for the controls he used to have on his magic before he'd locked it away. Or, perhaps more accurately, the memory of such controls because when he reached for them, he grasped only fragments. "I don't think I can," he finally admitted.

Lucy nodded as if she'd expected something like that. "Come into my parlour then," she said with a chuckle. "I imagine it's been a fair while, but I'm sure you can pick up the basics again fast enough."

He hesitated, his duty to be responsible with his magic warring with his promise to Ethan to be right back. "Can it wait? I, ah, am actually in the middle of a, um, rather important errand."

"Ian's with Ethan, Rupert. You have time. This won't take long." She turned and walked back into the living room, clearly expecting him to follow.

The crow. Giles had been right; he most certainly didn't want to know the details. Trying not to dwell on the fact that he and Ethan had most likely had an observer earlier, Giles meekly followed Lucy.

She sat him down in an armchair and crouched in front of him as she had when casting the highly irritating bell spell upon him at the beginning of their stay here. With her hands held out, palm up, it was obvious what she wanted him to do.

"This isn't going to involve any bells or whistles is it?" Giles asked, even as he reached out his hands to allow her to take them.

"No, I thought we'd try foghorns today, being as you've made so much progress." There was just enough humour around her eyes to reassure Giles that Lucy wasn't serious. She was quiet for a while, her eyes unfocused, and Giles was aware of the delicate touch of her magic inside him. Then she blinked and smiled broadly. "You really have made huge strides, Rupert. I'm very pleased."

Giles flushed in pleasure at the compliment, even as he felt foolish for doing so. He was far too old to be reacting so to simple words of praise. "It... I didn't do it for me. I don't think I would have ever managed to take that risk if it had only been for me."

Lucy nodded. "Yes, the two of you are unusually interwoven. It was perhaps a mistake to tutor you quite so apart from one another. Ian and I have been discussing this, thinking that where possible, we should deal with you as a pair in future. There are dangers to this approach, however, and that's one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you."

"I'm listening," Giles said, immediately sliding into a more serious, businesslike mindset.

Keeping hold of his hands, Lucy exhaled audibly through her nose before she started to speak. "You and Ethan are already what we might as well call a bonded pair. That is a fait accompli and cannot be changed in any desirable way. Working your magic together will only make you more a part of each other. Now certainly there will be many good and productive aspects to this, but the danger I want you to understand is a serious one. Eventually, you could become the spiritual equivalent of Siamese twins."

Giles turned that over in his mind, weighing the good and bad, what they had now versus what they could end up with. There was a very great chance that the type of permanent merging that Lucy was talking about would indeed happen; even in the old days, the way their magics had merged had been... extraordinary. So would it be prudent to accept this future spiritual blending as an unavoidable fact, instead of just a possibility?

If so, the question then became was it one that they wanted to live with? "What exactly would that sort of outcome mean for us?" he asked, wanting some more information before trying to answer.

"In most serious cases of Siamese twins, they cannot be separated and both still survive."

He'd expected something of that sort and filed the knowledge away. "Are we talking a need for physical proximity? Or...?"

Lucy shifted, clearly growing uncomfortable in her crouch, and settled into a cross-legged position on the floor, Giles' hands released for the time being. "Well, you'll be less and less happy apart, that's for certain. The most extreme cases that I've seen of this sort of thing involved... well, excessive forms of suicide by the one of a pair left alone by a death, not unlike how young Willow reacted to her girlfriend's demise."

Giles frowned. "So if one of us died, the other would go insane and try to destroy the world?"

"I said that was the most extreme possibility. If you know the risk, if you are prepared, the world will be safe. However, the more interwoven you become, the more likely the death of one of you will be closely followed by the death of the other."

"I... This is something I'll have to discuss with Ethan before any decision is made." Giles suspected that it might be a fait accompli already because unless Ethan and he separated totally, there was going to be some unintentional sharing of magic no matter how careful they were. But to actively court such a condition, that wasn't something he could decide alone.

"Of course." Lucy nodded, and held out her hands again. "So in the meantime let's work on the art of dropping a shout to a whisper, shall we?"

"Right," he said, taking her hands again. "Wouldn't want to keep you up at night or anything."

Lucy's thumbnails pressed painfully into Giles' palms for a fraction of a moment, just long enough for him to understand that she'd understood his little jibe. Then she relaxed, and her eyes unfocused again. "Follow what I do," she instructed. "I'll do it a few times then you can try it for yourself."

"All right." Giles closed his eyes, better to concentrate on what she was doing. It seemed simple enough and vaguely familiar; he had, after all, had to maintain controls back in the old days. It just seemed as if what he was trying to contain now was substantially more than it had been then.

The barriers Lucy was imposing were much more subtle than the process of completely locking down his power that Giles had grown used to. This was more akin to soothing his magic into a gentle sleep than locking it kicking and screaming into a closet.

After running through the procedure a few times, she said, "Now, you try."

It took several tries for him to manage something workable; he'd spent so many years essentially manhandling his magic that it took considerable effort and concentration to keep his touch light enough.

When he'd finally managed the process to Lucy's satisfaction, she released his hands and stood up. "That will do nicely for now. We can work on more finesse touch tomorrow. You've both had considerable success today, and I suggest you spend the evening celebrating, while Ethan is still well enough to enjoy it."

"About that," Giles began, needing to bring up the subject one more time, something in him refusing to accept the answer he'd been continuously given. "There's got to be some way to–"

Lucy rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Rupert, do you want Ethan to live into a ripe old age?"

"Of course, but–"

"But nothing." She frowned deeply at Giles. "This is the best way we know of trying to ensure his long and healthy life. While allowing him to become so ill is obviously not without risks, it's considerably less risky than either permitting him to continue masking the damage with Chaos, or to in some way attempt to force the Chaos from his system. You know this. I've told you countless times already. You need to stop being such a wimp about it and be strong for him."

Giles frowned. "I don't consider that being concerned that a loved one might suffer needlessly is being a wimp," he said with as much dignity as he could muster. It didn't matter. Even to his own ears, he still sounded like he was sulking.

"Well then, you'd better fetch him some clothes." Her eyes twinkled as she offered Giles a hand up.

At this point, Giles wasn't even surprised that Lucy knew the exact nature of his errand. Letting her pull him to his feet, Giles took the chance to make his exit before she could prove exactly how much she knew about what he and Ethan had been up to.

Lucy was right about one thing; this wasn't the time to dwell on future crises. With everything that had happened today, they deserved some time to savour and reflect. With that in mind, Giles put aside his concerns over Ethan's health for now and went upstairs to collect the aforementioned clothes.

This accomplished, Giles headed back to the meadow where he'd left Ethan talking to a crow... who apparently was Ian. And Giles wasn't going to dwell on that fact too much for his sanity's sake. As he walked through the gate to the meadow with the bundle of garments under his arm, Giles could see Ethan sitting by himself on the rock at the far end of the field.

Ethan had a slightly unhappy appearance, sitting meekly with his legs together and clasped hands resting on top of them. But as Giles drew closer, Ethan stood up and grinned in welcome. "It's a good thing there wasn't a sudden cold snap. Did you lose the key to our door?"

"I had to placate the gatekeeper before I was allowed upstairs," Giles replied, handing over the clothes. "Lucy insisted on an impromptu tutoring session."

Ethan started to dress himself in a hurry. "I hope she at least said well done," he remarked as he fastened his trousers.

"Congratulations were offered, yes. I assume that Ian was equally pleased?"

"Yes," Ethan confirmed, buttoning his shirt. "Although I was given a convincing warning not to fly too close to the sun." He walked closer and slipped his arms around Giles' waist.

"Had plans to play Icarus, did you?" Giles asked softly, wrapping his arms around Ethan in return, relishing the closeness.

"More like Reynard actually." Ethan paused and seemed uncomfortable. Then he said, "Rupert, I've got something I need to say, and I may never have the courage to acknowledge it again."

There was a seriousness to Ethan's voice that Giles reacted to, tightening his embrace as he said, "I'm listening."

Ethan's eyes closed in a grimace, and Giles could feel the tension in the other man's body. Finally, the dark eyes opened again, meeting his, and Ethan said quietly, "You were right to leave me."

The memory of that time and all of the mixed feelings and uncertainty he'd experienced flashed through Giles' mind. He'd told himself over the years that leaving had been the only thing he could have done, but the expression that had been on Ethan's face in the cemetery would always haunt him. "What brought this on?" he asked, brushing fingers lightly over Ethan's cheek.

"Something Ian said," Ethan acknowledged then smiled raggedly. "Do me a favour, would you, dearheart? Don't die. Or at least warn me in advance so that I can go with you."

Giles leant in and kissed him, sensing the genuine distress behind the smile. "Actually, there's something we need to talk about," he said, thinking that he probably wasn't going to get a better lead in.

"Oh goody, more existential angst, I hope?" Ethan asked sarcastically, but then rolled his eyes and said, "Sorry. Shall we sit down then?"

"This is something I think you're going to like." Giles sat down on the ground, leaning back against the stone, and pulling Ethan down beside him. "Even the drawbacks, well... perhaps I better start at the beginning."

Settling closely against Giles, Ethan chuckled slightly and prompted, "Once upon a time there was..."

Giles chuckled too. "Not quite that far back. Lucy was saying that she thought it might be better if you and I worked together with the magic from now on. Although if we do so, there's a high likelihood there's going to be some... melding."

"Melding?"

"The term she used was 'spiritual Siamese twins.'"

Ethan was silent. When Giles turned to look at him, Ethan shrugged. "I'm rather thinking I'm already that emotionally. I'm not sure how much difference adding a spiritual dimension to the bond will realistically make. Are you... um, don't you want to do it then?"

"To tell the truth, I'm rather intrigued by the possibilities." Giles smiled. "Considering some of the experiences we've had in the past, it's bound to be interesting."

Ethan's head was bent, and his voice was so quiet that Giles only just heard him say, "You wouldn't be able to leave again."

Giles leant in, resting his head briefly against Ethan's. "I don't think I could regardless."

There was more silence from his lover, and Giles got the impression that Ethan was considering all the implications of what he'd just been told. Then Ethan straightened and reached out for Giles' furthest hand, holding it up, palm to palm and fingers interwoven. "It's agreed then? 'Til death and all that?"

"Agreed," Giles said softly, holding Ethan's gaze, feeling everything that was represented by the one word.

Ethan's expression utterly failed to hide the strong emotions he was clearly experiencing; Giles watched his mouth open and shut a few times before Ethan seemed to give up on words and leant forward for a kiss. As their lips met, Giles felt a surge of Ethan's magic through their linked hands, calling for his own.

Releasing the controls he'd put on his magic with Lucy, Giles sent a surge of his own down through his fingertips to meet and mix with Ethan's.

Unlike previous experiences of their magic merging, this one was not sexual, although Giles realised it could easily become so with just a nudge here or there. Ethan's lips stilled their movements, and the pair of them sat motionless for an indefinable amount of time, lost in their combined spell, linked hand to hand, magic to magic, spirit to spirit...

It was a sublime experience; it felt _right_ in a way that very few things had ever felt. Any doubts that might have been hiding in the corners of Giles' mind melted away in the face of this rightness like snow under a spring sun.

This was what Giles was meant to do, part of his destiny as much as being Watcher to Buffy had been. The next step on the path that he was meant to take.

One that he wouldn't be travelling alone, not anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

_ **Then...** _

"I mean it," Ripper said. "It's your birthday; we'll do anything you want."

Ethan knew that he was staring at his boyfriend a little blankly, but he really wasn't sure what he was being offered. He'd already been given a damn good birthday morning shagging by Ripper, followed by a substantial breakfast in bed. He'd opened his presents and been sung to, and there was a promise of an evening on the tiles later on. It was already, by far, the best birthday that Ethan had ever had.

What more could Ripper possibly offer? "Been raiding the family account, have we?" Ethan asked.

"If you want to do something expensive, I'll find a way to swing it." Ripper paused. "Do you want to do something expensive?"

Slipping from the bed, Ethan stood up beside Ripper, looking hard into his eyes. "Anything?"

"Anything," Ripper repeated patiently. "It's your choice. Whatever you want to do, that's what we'll do."

Ethan didn't believe it, not for a single second. Ripper was good to him, better than anyone had been before, but there was no way on God's green that he really meant that 'anything'. Smirking, Ethan decided to call him on it. "Then I declare myself the Lord of Misrule. The tables are turned and the roles reversed." He hooked a finger through one of Ripper's belt loops and yanked him forward. "Today, _I'm_ on top."

Ripper smiled, willingly moving into his arms. "All right. Do you want me to call you 'Sir'?"

Ethan really didn't. "That won't be necessary." The idea made him shudder. "Just be for me what I normally am for you." He wondered how far Ripper would let him go with this.

"A constant delicious temptation?" Ripper grinned at him. "I can do that."

Ethan couldn't help but smile at the compliment, and he wriggled happily against Ripper. But still... "Really?" An idea was beginning to dawn. "Are you absolutely sure about that, my dear?"

Ripper's expression turned serious. "I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't." He brushed fingers against Ethan's cheek. "Anything, love."

Ethan stared at him for what felt like a very long time then grabbed Ripper's hand. "You may regret this when you hear me playing your guitar," he sniggered as he pulled his surprisingly obliging boyfriend into their little bathroom.

"You going to play it in the bath?"

Rolling his eyes, Ethan pushed Ripper to the sink and then tugged at his T-shirt. "I need this off so I can wash your face."

Ripper opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything as he obediently pulled his shirt over his head. Ethan grinned behind him and admired the view, before leaning round and filling the sink with warm water. Opening the old bread bin that served as their bathroom cabinet, he deliberately took out his most scented soap, the one with the added moisturiser.

"So what you want to do is give me a facial?" Ripper asked, a hint of teasing in his voice, but he didn't look reluctant to go through with it.

"Oh no, Ripper. This is merely preparing the canvas. Be a darling and bend over, would you?"

Ripper complied with a bemused expression, and Ethan used his own special sponge to wet Ripper's face and then massaged the foamy soap carefully into Ripper's skin, making much more of a meal of it than he usually did with himself. There was something oddly erotic about touching Ripper like this. For some reason it seemed more intimate than really it should have.

Ripper closed his eyes and held perfectly still as Ethan worked, quietly letting him do whatever he wanted. Ethan found he was feeling a sense of muted excitement about what was to come, and Ripper's compliant acceptance so far was only increasing the anticipation.

Running his soapy fingers over Ripper's smooth chin, Ethan decided he didn't need to get the shaving things out. Somewhat reluctantly, he used the sponge to rinse the soap away and then carefully patted Ripper dry. "Back to the other room now. Oh, and leave your shirt off."

Opening his eyes, Ripper raised his eyebrow at Ethan, but obediently headed out of the bathroom, leaving his shirt behind. "Now what?"

"Now you sit on the bed. Think you can manage that?" Smirking, Ethan knelt and pulled out what Ripper called his box of tricks from under the bed. This was where he kept his comprehensive collection of begged, stolen or borrowed cosmetics.

Pausing in the act of sitting down, Ripper gave the familiar bag a long stare. "So it's to be a makeover then."

"Yes." Ethan grinned evilly up at the other boy; here came the big test. "And then I put on your leather jacket, and we go out together."

That got him a sharp look, but none of the expected protests. Instead, Ripper gave him a smile. "Going to be my protector, are you?"

That momentarily stopped Ethan in his tracks. "It won't come to that," he decided. "We'll go to safe places." He lifted the old carpetbag onto the bed and seated himself as close as he could in front of Ripper, letting their legs interweave.

Ripper spread his arms wide. "I'm all yours," he said extravagantly, one of his hands coming to rest on Ethan's left thigh.

"Oh no. No, no, no." Ethan lifted the offending hand and put it on Ripper's own leg. "I will not be distracted out of this by your masculine wiles." Ripper did a credible job of imitating Ethan's usual pout, and Ethan realised suddenly why his own pout, nine times out of ten, ended up with him being kissed. "Yes, practice that expression. I'll need it when I get to your lips."

He opened the bag and rummaged around inside it, drawing out a selection of tubes and pots. Raising his fingers to touch Ripper's face, Ethan decided that more was required to soften and seal the skin before applying the foundation, and so he began to smooth in a little light moisturiser.

Again, the act of moving slick fingers over Ripper's beautiful bone structure was surprisingly sensual, and Ethan got a little lost in it. "I've never done this to anyone else before," he commented dreamily.

"Me neither," Ripper replied with the ghost of a smile. There was a brief pause, then he added softly, "There's no one else I'd let do this."

Smiling, Ethan sat back and rolled up his sleeves. While he waited for the moisturiser to be absorbed, he tried to decide on the colours that would suit Ripper's skin tone and eyes. "I used to steal my aunt's makeup, you know; she was too consistently drunk to ever notice. I'd put a chair in front of my bedroom door so no one could interrupt my fun, and I'd spend hours just playing with my look in front of the mirror... well, my look and other things." He giggled. That was something he would never have admitted to anyone else.

"How old were you?" Ripper asked curiously.

Ethan shrugged. "Young. Just a nipper. Hold still now." He began to dab dots of stick concealer about Ripper's face.

"Always knew you were precocious."

"That's one word for it," Ethan said dryly, blending in the concealer with a fingertip. "People at the time had a wide variety of other words. I suppose you were everybody's favourite paragon."

Ripper gave a one-shouldered shrug, being careful to continue to hold his head still. "I spent a lot of time doing what was expected."

"When did that stop? I don't mean when you decided to leave; I know when that was. And why." Ethan smirked fondly at Ripper. "But when did you start... exploring your options?"

"I don't know if I can pinpoint one specific moment," Ripper replied after a moment's thought. "It was more of a continuum. Gradually getting more dissatisfied and finding more and more courage to break the rules."

It was time for foundation. Ripper needed a lighter one than Ethan, but that wasn't a problem as Ethan had a range of colours from shoplifting expeditions that had turned into grab anything and run affairs, as they so often did. He squeezed a small amount onto his fingers and started to apply it, rubbing in small circles. "What does this feel like?" he asked curiously. "Does it feel like breaking the rules?"

"It feels..." Ripper hesitated as if looking for the right word. "Naughty."

"Mmm, naughty," Ethan purred. "You should watch." He dug out a hand mirror and gave it to Ripper so that he could see his now even and uniform skin tone.

Ripper looked at his reflection for a moment. "Can see a difference already."

"Just be grateful I'm not plucking your brows. Close your eyes."

Raising one of the aforementioned eyebrows, Ripper obeyed.

Ethan quickly applied a neutral base colour and then, using brushes, he began work at creating fabulous eyes. Or as fabulous as was possible while maintaining the natural brow, anyway. It felt different doing this to someone else instead of to himself in a mirror, but he was getting used to it. "I had lessons in stage makeup once," he threw into the conversation. "From this wonderful old queen down at the Half Moon. We had a deal going."

"Do I even want to ask what the deal was?"

"I imagine not."

"If it's anything like what I suspect it is, there better not be any more of those types of deals. I don't share."

Ethan frowned and paused in his work. "Ripper, since there's been you, well... I'm as possessive of your property as you are." He sighed and added quietly, "It didn't matter what I did with my body before it became yours. It matters now. No one else gets to touch your things."

Ripper's eyes flicked open to look at him. "You're more than just one of my things." He smiled slightly. "Still don't want anyone to touch you though."

Ethan tutted. "Close your eyes."

Smiling, Ripper obeyed.

As the work on Ripper's eyes progressed, in hues of green and gold, Ethan found that he was beginning to feel a little strange. Every time he moved back to take stock of his masterpiece-in-progress, he was hit by the fact that this increasingly beautiful creature in front of him was actually his Ripper, and that was... as arousing as Chaos.

"Open your eyes wide now, dearheart, and don't, whatever you do, blink."

Obeying, Ripper asked, "Do I get to see what you've been doing?"

"In a jiffy, my dear." Ethan's tone was distracted as he very carefully applied eyeliner and then mascara. Ripper did blink, of course, and many times, but between them they got the job done. "You can look now, but there's still a lot to do, and oh..." Sitting back, Ethan was somewhat overwhelmed by the sight of Ripper. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed as his trousers started to feel tight. "Bugger..."

Eyes that he knew as well as his own, but that now, lined in kohl, seemed full of mysteries, looked him over. Ripper smiled. "Look that good, do I?" Ethan didn't answer; he was too busy staring. Ripper leant forward until his mouth was hovering a breath away from Ethan's. "Aren't you going to finish your masterpiece?" he whispered.

Ethan whimpered. He closed his eyes, which definitely helped temporarily. "You seem to have forgotten who's in charge."

"I haven't forgotten." Ethan felt Ripper move back and could hear the pout in his voice when he added, "But you're not going to leave me half-finished, are you?"

"If you want to be 'finished', you need to stop trying to seduce me for at least another ten minutes." Ethan sounded petulant to his own ears.

Thinking he'd calmed down enough, he opened his eyes, only to find his cock hardening further when he looked again at Ripper. Groaning, he grabbed his blusher and shimmering highlighter together with the appropriate brushes and set to work defining that wonderful bone structure.

He moved closer, getting up onto his knees, and used the brushes as if they were somehow sex toys, making every flick or stroke into a caress.

Ripper made a deep rumble in the back of his throat, like the purr of one of the great cats. "I'm not the one doing the seducing, love."

"Then why am I the one feeling breathless?" Ethan asked, and he rubbed his erection into Ripper's chest, to make his point clear, and indeed, felt.

"All I'm doing is sitting here nice and still while you paint my face," Ripper pointed out reasonably.

"Stop it," Ethan muttered. "Or I'll never get this finished." He turned away and started rummaging through his stuff with trembling hands. Ripper fell totally silent, obviously doing his best to obey and be unobtrusive.

Having found what he was looking for, Ethan stuck a line of gold sequins following each side of Ripper's brow, along the upper temples, and then brushed matching glitter along his cheekbone. Ethan didn't dare pull back and look at his work, he just let the brushes in his hands drop and turned back to the case.

"Just the lips now..." he whispered.

"Should I pout?" Ripper asked in a soft voice.

"Look at yourself before I start," Ethan instructed, not doing so himself. "Tell me what you think, how it makes you feel." He saw Ripper reach for the mirror and waited for his reaction.

There was silence for a long moment, and when Ethan finally looked up, he found Ripper staring big-eyed at himself in the mirror.

"Oh God. You're as entranced as I am." Ethan found he was rubbing his wrist and forearm against his needy erection and forced himself to stop. "Ripper, talk to me?"

"I didn't think..." Ripper murmured, still staring at his own reflection. His gaze flickered over to meet Ethan's. "I thought I'd look ridiculous made up."

"Silly thing to think," Ethan mumbled. He patted at Ripper's knees, trying to get him to straighten his legs out. "You're beautiful, and I'm an artist. Why would you look anything but... painfully irresistible?"

"You're the beautiful one," Ripper countered. "With or without enhancement."

"How can you look at yourself and claim you're not beautiful?" Ethan demanded. As Ripper had obligingly straightened his legs, Ethan straddled them. He just sat there, lipstick in one hand, lip liner and brush in the other, staring at his lover. "Oh God... Oh God, this hurts."

Ripper's expression immediately became concerned, and he reached out to touch Ethan's cheek. "Ethan?"

He gave a nervous little laugh and took hold of Ripper's hand, pulling it down, then pressing it to the front of his trousers. "_This_ hurts."

Ripper's eyes widened in realisation, the expression exaggerated by the makeup, then he grinned slyly. "I'm sure I can figure out some way to help alleviate that... pain," he said, his fingers massaging Ethan's length through the material.

Ethan gasped, then panted, then groaned. "Hell... Oh God." His head was tipped back and his hips thrust forward. "Need... need to finish..."

"Should I stop?"

"Yes... no.... um... Let me just do your lips."

Still wearing that sly smile, Ripper pulled his hand away. Ethan tried to concentrate on Ripper's lips and only his lips. It didn't help much; he felt like he was falling into them. Groaning, he began to outline with the pencil.

"Stop smiling. I need... I need a neutral ex... expression."

Ripper complied, although Ethan could feel the effort it was taking to keep his expression blank. It took twice as long as it should have done to complete the outline as Ethan's hands were shaking, but finally the pencil dropped to the bed amongst the rest of the clutter.

Then he opened the lipstick. He'd chosen a warm shade the colour of old paprika. This particular lipstick was high gloss, which wasn't completely right for the look he was going for with Ripper, but Ethan couldn't resist the opportunity to see Ripper's lips slick and gleaming. As he painted it slowly on, he started to whimper again.

Ripper held perfectly still as if sensing that anything more would break the moment.

Finally, the lips were done and the stick and brush fell to the bed unnoticed as Ethan leant forward. His mouth got close enough to Ripper's shiny lips that he could feel Ripper's breath...

But then he drew back and clambered off Ripper and the bed, almost running to the box of gear at the far end of the room.

"Ethan, what are you–"

"The camera. Where's the blasted Polaroid thing that we nicked gone?" Ethan was throwing stuff across the floor without care as he searched.

Ripper got up and came over, leaning close enough that Ethan could feel the heat of his body as Ripper reached for a box on a higher shelf. "It's in here."

Completely unable to stop himself, Ethan dropped to his knees, grasped Ripper's hips, and pressed his face into the front of the denim jeans, groaning. He heard Ripper's swift intake of breath and could feel his erection, rock hard and needy beneath his mouth, under the material.

Within seconds, Ethan had them unbuttoned, and he was taking out Ripper's cock, moaning as he kissed and licked its head... but then he was up on his feet again and dragging Ripper by his hand back to the bed, the camera dangling by its lead from Ripper's hand. "Naked. Get naked... Going to paint all of you..."

Ripper groaned at the suggestion, but was already pushing his jeans down his legs and kicking them aside. Ethan also stripped as his clothing was unbearably hot and uncomfortable. He pushed all the makeup to one side on the bed and tugged at Ripper to get him to lie down flat.

Ripper allowed himself to be pushed down on his back, his gaze never leaving Ethan. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Thinking?" Ethan asked, as he straddled the other boy, trapping Ripper's cock beneath his arse. "You think I have thoughts?" Ethan grabbed a pot of eyeshadow at random and began to draw with it, using his fingertip, over Ripper's chest. All the while, he rocked with his hips.

"Feelings then. And intent." Ripper put his hands above his head, arching up a bit into Ethan's touch.

Ethan looked up at Ripper helplessly. When he spoke, he was breathless and panting. "Er... that I've never been so bloody turned on in all my life? That I don't know what I'm doing? I want to do twenty things at once. I want you inside me while I do this. I want to smear that lipstick halfway across your face. I want to put rouge on your nipples. I want... I want..."

"Anything." Ripper lowered his arms, grasping Ethan's hips and lifting him, shifting until his cock was pressed against Ethan's entrance, still well lubricated from their earlier athleticism. "Everything," Ripper said, voice tight as he slowly pushed inside. "Do it all."

***

_ **Now...** _

"No, sweet thing," Ethan said, more or less patiently. "Knights can't move any way you want them to; it just looks that way. They have to move in an 'L' shape. Like this, or this." He demonstrated to Kat again with one of his own knights then put it back where it had been.

It had been Rupert's idea to try to encourage Kat's slightly deficient strategic ability by teaching her how to play chess; it gave Ethan something Watcherly he could do in his current state of infirmity. Not that he was _that_ bad yet. Just bad enough. But really, wasn't it enough that he was too weak to go out with Rupert today, without having to play a game he found stultifyingly boring with a Slayer who didn't want to play it?

"Guess you won't buy it's a knight with delusions of grandeur?" Kat asked with a half-hopeful expression. "A Slayer knight?"

"If it was up to me, dear, it could be anything you want it to be. But Rupert wants you to learn the rules. Why he thought _I'd_ be the right person to teach you rules, I'm not sure." He could hear the petulance in his own voice, made worse by the breathlessness he could no longer completely hide. "Look, I'll make you a deal. Learn the bloody things; then we can stop playing. We'll pretend we've had many enjoyable games all afternoon when Rupert and Megan come back, and I'll teach you something fun instead."

"Cool. Then we can stop." Kat sat back in her seat, pushing her multicoloured fringe from her eyes. "I know the rules. I just..." She shrugged. "I'm not good at them."

Ethan considered pretending he believed her and then decided that it didn't matter. "Don't worry, I'll lay any failure to know them at my door. I've never been very good at rules either."

"Thanks," Kat told him. As if to make sure he didn't change his mind, she started gathering the pieces up, putting them back in the case. "That's not exactly true, you know."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why ever would you say that?"

"Observation. You follow the rules – when you believe in them."

"Ah. Well, yes. Belief is something relatively new in my life." He stared a little glumly out of the French windows. The weather had taken a turn for the autumnal, and the wisteria twigs were being blown against the glass. "For most of my life, I denied myself faith in anything or anyone." Which wasn't precisely true. In fact, it wasn't true at all, but Ethan found he really didn't want to discuss the tenets of Chaos with Kat.

"That's gotta be a really sucky way to live." Kat's voice was sympathetic even if her words were blunt.

He smiled at her, acknowledging the accuracy of her remark. "Things are a lot better now. Learn from my mistakes, Kat. If nothing else, I can teach you what not to do."

"But you're happy now, right? Being responsible and doing your duty?"

He grimaced and shuddered. "Oh sweetheart, do find some other way of phrasing that."

She grinned. "Sorry. What should I call it?"

Ethan suddenly had an almost overwhelming urge for a cigarette, which was interesting considering he hadn't smoked for years, and his lungs were currently a little strained even sitting still. He looked at the Slayer and rubbed his face. "Rupert's the one with the sacred agenda; I'm just with him for the ride. But yes, I'm happy to, um, be in his sidecar." He grinned at her, although as she had no idea what he was remembering with that comment, he doubted she could really share his humour in it.

Kat tilted her head as she returned his grin. "Y'know, it's really amazing how almost everything you say about Giles sounds dirty."

Ethan burst out laughing. "Catch me drunk and unwise one night, and I might tell you some stories... Oh, perhaps I shouldn't encourage you in that." He paused and thought back over what the girl had said, and maybe hadn't said. "Is everything all right with you, Kat?"

"Sure," Kat answered too quickly. "Of course! Why wouldn't it be?"

His suspicions now roused, Ethan narrowed his eyes at her. "What aren't you telling your pseudo-Watcher here?"

Kat looked away. "It's nothing. Just..."

"Katherine?" He reached forward to touch her hand, which was resting on the card table between them. "Tell me what's wrong? I might not take teaching you chess particularly seriously, but I'm certainly concerned if something is amiss."

She was silent for a long moment, long enough that Ethan thought she wasn't going to speak. But finally, in a barely audible voice, she said, "I don't know if I can do this."

"Ah," Ethan said, instantly understanding what 'this' was. He squeezed her hand gently. "Hence the question about duty and responsibility?" Kat nodded mutely, and he took a deep breath, wondering what Rupert would do in a situation like this. Ethan could only guess the correct approach using his instincts, and not the knowledge and training of more official Watchers.

Releasing the breath, he gave it his best shot. "It's okay not to want the Slayer's life, Kat; you mustn't worry that we'll be angry with you. All we'll want to ensure is that you've really thought through your decision, and that it's not based on something we could make better for you if we knew about it. Can you tell me what's making you... uneasy?"

"Mostly... it's what happened to Megan." She glanced at him as if to see his reaction.

He tried very hard not to flinch, but wasn't sure he'd managed it. "Yes. That was stressful for us all. Are you worried something similar might happen again? Perhaps to you?"

"No," she said immediately. Then a second later, "Yes. But not for me. I'm worried that it'll happen to someone else because I'm not good enough."

"Oh God," Ethan said, and clasped his hands to his face, rubbing hard. Then he turned to her again and said apologetically, "I'm really not the right person to be talking with you about this."

"Oh." Kat sounded uncharacteristically subdued, and she pulled back, shifting her chair away from the table. "I understand. It's okay."

He watched her move away with a sense of alarm, and it forced him to open up further. "No, you really don't understand, dear. I can't give you encouragement, not because I don't want to, but because I feel the same way you do."

"I get it," Kat said sharply, not glancing up at him. "You don't think I'm good enough either. It's fine. Really."

"What on earth...?" he asked, honestly bewildered by her words. Then he suddenly understood how she'd misinterpreted his confession. "Oh, you silly child." He pushed up and out of the armchair, ignoring how weak his muscles were starting to feel, and went to crouch in front of hers, taking her hands into his. "I meant that I feel that _I'm_ not good enough. That _I'm_ going to hurt someone again, like I did Megan."

"You feel..." Kat repeated, staring at him in obvious disbelief. She leaned forward, squeezing his hands. "But you're the best, Ethan. You and Giles, you saved Megan. I... I just stood there."

Ethan looked at her in equal disbelief. "Kat, I almost killed Megan. If Rupert hadn't been there to undo my damage, she'd be dead, and it would be my fault."

"Maybe, but she'd be dead if you hadn't been there too. You killed the... whatever it was. And Giles didn't know the spell, you did. You did _something_ at least. I froze."

His 'something' had been mainly having an impromptu breakdown if he remembered rightly, but he should be concentrating on Kat's self-doubt, not his own. "Kat, do you really imagine that anyone deals well with that kind of situation when they first meet it? Rupert and I have years of field experience." Albeit mostly from different sides of the fence. "The first time we found ourselves facing the death of a friend, I can assure you that we did not cope at all well."

"But what if it happens again?" she asked, watching him with troubled eyes. "What if the next time someone's in trouble I freeze again?"

He stood as it was either that or topple over. "You won't, or if you do it will be for less time. You're a Slayer, Kat. That comes with a whole caboodle of instincts as I understand it. You never had a chance to act when Megan was hurt. I saw you run to save her, but I blasted the bastard before you could reach it. That's not freezing; that's not being as quick as dangerous Chaos magic, which could have made the situation a great deal worse had I got a single syllable of the incantation wrong."

"I don't feel like I have a whole caboodle of instincts," Kat admitted, but she sounded less distressed than she had.

He sat back down in his chair, but kept hold of one of her hands. "Perhaps we can schedule in some training that concentrates on getting you more in touch with those instincts." Maybe Rupert could guide her on one of those spiritquest things he was so fond of. "But sweetheart, if in the end you decide to go home, that's fine. Really, it is. Just make sure you stay in touch. I'm turning into a sentimental old man, and I don't want to lose contact with you."

That got him one of Kat's irrepressible smiles. "Don't worry. You're not getting rid of me that easy. Even if I do go home."

"That's my good girl," he replied with a fond smirk.

Kat grinned back then gradually became more serious again. "Ethan, can I ask you something?"

"Always."

"Is this..." She gestured at him, then stopped and started again. "You're not... punishing yourself, are you?"

He understood. "No dear, although I see how it could look that way. But this is just the rather prolonged equivalent of sweating out a fever. Do try not to let it bother you."

"I don't think I'm capable of that."

He grimaced. "It's going to get considerably worse before it gets better. You should prepare yourself." He could feel the Chaos still inside him, inside every bloody cell it seemed. It was stubborn and entrenched, and he knew he was facing a long and very debilitating cleansing. "Try to remember that I'm going through this for good reasons – so that I can be with Rupert, and with you and Megan, and so that I hopefully won't hurt anyone again."

"That's what you tell yourself?" Kat asked. "That you're doing this for good reasons?"

"I suppose so. What else should I tell myself?"

"And it's enough?"

He nodded. "Rupert alone would be enough. Easily so."

Kat was quiet for a moment. "Are you– Do you get scared?"

"The things I'm scared of –petrified of– are the things that will happen if I don't go through with this." He squeezed her hand tightly. "Kat, I'm resigned to my fate here. What is it about my illness that's bothering you so much?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes and the words, when they came, were barely audible. "My brother... got sick. He never got better."

Oh dear God. Why him? Ethan didn't have the... whatever it was that was needed for dealing with things like this. He looked at her somewhat helplessly. "I'm so very sorry to hear that. I... I promise I will get better."

"Really?" Kat finally met his gaze, looking and sounding even younger than she was. "You promise?"

He knew there were risks involved with letting himself get so ill, but his heart had been sound enough to get him through four years of Initiative torture so the chances were that it would survive this too. It was best to appear confident for Kat's sake anyway. At least, he hoped it was. "I promise. In a few weeks I'll be right as rain." He winked at her. "Rain, get it?"

She giggled, although the sound was a little watery. Surprising Ethan, Kat got out of her chair to hug him. He patted her back softly and smoothed the wildly coloured hair from her face. He recognised the hairstyle for what it was, the equivalent of the glitter he'd once used himself to deflect the world's attention from the real Ethan, but that didn't stop him appreciating the girl's style. And that gave him an idea...

"I believe I said I'd teach you something more enjoyable than chess. How would you care to learn some outrageous makeup tricks to go with this wonderful peacock plumage of yours?"


	12. Chapter 12

"You've been quiet," Giles said, glancing at the girl sitting in the passenger seat beside him. He caught a brief answering grin from Megan before he had to turn back to the road.

"I _am_ the quiet one, Giles."

"You don't necessarily need to take that label to heart," he replied, teasing her gently.

"I'm just thinking about what to get Ethan."

Giles –who had quite possibly been the only person alive, other than Ethan himself, who'd known that Ethan's birthday was next week– had let slip this fact to the Slayers a couple of days ago. This trip to Exeter was in order to buy appropriate surprise gifts.

"Any ideas?" Giles asked Megan. He himself knew exactly what he was going to get, trusting that Ethan would let him indulge his romantic side when he presented it.

"Something foxy," she said. "Uh, as in to do with foxes. I found out online about something that I'd like to look for."

"Foxes?" Giles asked, remembering the way that Ethan's eyes had seemed to change briefly a few days ago; if Giles had had to describe them, he would've said that they _had_ looked like a fox's.

"Yeah, you know, his fox thing? Uh, you did know he had a fox thing, didn't you?" Her voice took on a concerned tone.

"Depends. What is the 'fox thing'?" It couldn't be anything serious, Giles told himself, not if Ethan had shared it with Megan.

"Well, I suppose it's almost like his animal totem. Are you sure he hasn't told you? He saw mine for me, an owl, and when I was in the hospital he bought me this necklace." Her hand went to her neck where Giles knew she wore a silver charm of an owl in flight; he hadn't realised it had been a gift from Ethan.

Giles had never had any discussions with Ethan about animal totems, but Ethan as a fox... It fitted. "It hasn't come up in conversation," he told Megan. "Not specifically." He was beginning to wonder how much more there was that he didn't know about Ethan. Hard on the heels of that thought came the realisation that he had the rest of their lives to find out.

Megan nodded. "That might be because of the... oh." She stopped suddenly, as if realising she was about to put her foot in it. Which, of course, made Giles all the more curious.

"Because of the...?" he repeated. "Please, continue."

She wriggled in her seat. "Giles, he told me not to talk to you about it. He said you'd be upset."

"Ethan has an exaggerated sense of what upsets me," he told her gently, even as part of him became increasingly... uncomfortable at the thought of Ethan keeping secrets from him.

"So you weren't upset when he turned you into a fyarl?"

"When he..." Giles glanced over at her in surprise. "He told you about that?"

"Uh, yes?"

"While telling you about animal totems." He wasn't sure he followed his lover's logic.

"Sort of." Megan started speaking very quickly. "We were talking about transmogrification and being turned into things more suited to our personalities, and I asked him what he'd turn me into, and he said an owl. Then I asked about you, and he did that cringe thing he does and told me about the fyarl, which he said was an 'ironic statement' and not the real you. What do you think the real you would be?"

Giles was glad he'd had all that experience with Buffy, Willow and the others in keeping up with the speedy and slightly non-linear nature of teenage chatter. Filing the 'ironic statement' reference for discussion with Ethan later, he answered Megan's question. "My totem is the badger."

"Cool!" She grinned over at him. "A fox and a badger. They kind of go together, I think? So what are you going to get him?"

"I've got an idea or two," Giles said evasively. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to keep his plans private until he was able to give his present to Ethan. Which meant, he realised, he was going to have to get another, public gift to keep Megan –and Kat, when they got back– from pestering him about it. "I'll see what I can find."

They were in the outskirts of Exeter now, and it wouldn't be long before Giles would need to start looking for car parks. Megan was looking out the window when she said, "He's going to be really sick by the time of his surprise party, isn't he?"

"Quite probably, yes," Giles replied quietly. He still had hopes that they'd be able to do something before Ethan reached the same physical state he'd been in when Giles had rescued him, but he was aware that they were faint hopes at best. "I'm afraid it won't be much of a wild party this year."

She looked back towards him. "Giles, I... Is it okay to ask questions? About you two, I mean."

"Of course," he told her with a smile, his natural reticence to share his private life not an issue it seemed when it came to Ethan. But still... "I reserve the right to refuse to answer however."

"Ethan's told me things, bits and pieces, so I know you were friends before, when you were young. But there's a lot of time he won't talk about, except for dark hints about how... " She paused, obviously searching for words. "Well, stuff about Chaos and how unhappy he was... Well, not that he actually says that, but, uh, I seem to hear it. And anyway, you're back together now. So have you, uh..." She trailed off.

"We're in a committed relationship; is that what you're asking?"

"No," she said, sounding a little helpless. "I mean, I assumed that. You, uh, seem committed. I meant, uh, have you always known?"

"Have I always known that Ethan and I should be together?" he asked, attempting to clarify.

"Uh, maybe?" There was definitely something bothering Megan. Her legs were now tightly crossed and her arms wrapped around herself.

"I've always loved Ethan, even when we were... estranged." Giles reached out and touched her arm. "You know you can ask me or Ethan anything. If there's something troubling you–"

Megan made a little squeaky noise and then rushed out, "Whendidyoufirstknowyouweregay?"

Giles blinked. He certainly hadn't been expecting that. But he did his best to hide his surprise and to answer her question as if it were any other. "Actually, I'm bisexual. I think on some level I knew it all along, but I consciously put a name to it when I was... about your age." He paused then gently asked, "I take it this isn't just an intellectual interest?"

"No," she admitted, seeming to relax slightly now she'd finally broached the subject. "I've never been like other girls. I don't... Well, Justin Timberlake just isn't attractive!"

"That could be a sign of good taste as much as preference," Giles pointed out. He paused then asked, "Who _do_ you find attractive?"

"Uh, well, lots of people... female people. Liv Tyler is really nice. And her sister. And um, Jessica Alba and, oh, I like lots." Giles could feel Megan watching him carefully. "Is it really okay to talk about this?"

"It's really okay." Giles gave her an encouraging smile. "Buffy and her friends broke me in quite thoroughly. There's very little you can say that could shock me."

They were in central Exeter now, and Giles was following the 'P' signs towards a multi-storey. Megan asked, "Is Ethan bisexual too?"

Giles chuckled, recalling the wild-eyed look Ethan had developed the time Deirdre had tried to seduce him. "No, Ethan is definitely gay."

He found himself remembering Ethan drunkenly chatting up the waitress the night before the fyarl incident and wondered a little about that again. To start with, Giles had thought the initial remark had been aimed at him, and when he'd realised otherwise he'd simply disregarded it as another masking behaviour from his ex-lover. But as he now planned to get the true facts of that night once and for all from Ethan, Giles added that question to the list.

Megan asked, "Was he, uh, out when you first met him?"

"The only way he could have been further out is if he'd hung a sign around his neck," Giles said, with a fond smile, remembering the provocative way Ethan had gone about getting his attention that first night. "Come to think of it, I don't think even a sign would have made him any more obvious."

Megan giggled, but then became more serious again. "Do you think I should, you know, be out like that?"

"I don't think anyone but Ethan could be out like that," Giles said drily. He turned into the car park, pausing the conversation while he acquired the ticket and drove past the risen gate. "I think you should be as out as you feel comfortable being."

"That isn't very out," she said glumly. "Back in the States, there was someone, a girl..."

Giles pulled the car into an empty spot. "A girl you like." It was more a statement than a question.

"It was more that I thought she liked me. She kept hugging me and stuff and stroking my hair." When Giles looked over, Megan was staring down at her clenched together hands.

"How did that make you feel?" he asked gently, reaching out and brushing her hair back from her face.

"It made me want to kiss her."

"There's nothing wrong with that." He paused. "It can be scary though, I know."

"Yeah. Like when she ran away going 'ewww, eww, eww' and telling _everybody_ that I'd tried to have sex with her."

Giles winced, his heart going out to Megan. "That must've been... I'm sorry."

"I was glad to come to England," she said quietly. She looked up at Giles and smiled warmly. "And I'm really happy to have you and Ethan as my Watchers. I think you're both... well, pretty much the best things I've ever had in my life, together with being a Slayer."

"I'm glad you feel that way," he said, returning her smile. "And I'm glad that you felt you could share this with me."

They left the car and made their way out of the car park. Exeter was a small but attractive city with plenty of shops, both usual and unusual. Getting what they wanted for Ethan should be easy enough. Giles had a short list of things to hunt out on Kat's behalf as well.

As they made their way to the high street, Megan said, "I want to look in old book stores."

"All right," Giles said, mentally running through his knowledge of antiquarian bookshop locations. There was one next to the jewellery shop that he needed to go to; he could get his purchase while Megan was browsing. That decided, he led them in the appropriate direction.

Megan was quiet once again, although she didn't give the impression of being unhappy. When they stopped in front of Green Dragon Books, her eyes seemed to light up at the multitude of old musty volumes she could see inside. "Oh, I have a good feeling about this."

Giles chuckled, seeing some of his own enthusiasm for places like this in her reaction. "Take your time," he said as she headed for the door. "I have a quick errand to run; then I'll join you inside."

"You're not coming in with me?" Megan asked, suddenly alarmed. "But I won't know if... You're supposed to tell me if I've chosen right."

"I'm sure your choice will be fine," Giles told her, giving her a reassuring smile. "And I won't be long. Go in, look around, and find what you want my opinion on. By that time, I should be back." She paused further, but then nodded and smiled, and Giles waited until he could see her starting to peruse the shelves before he headed next door.

It didn't take him too long to find what he wanted and make his purchase. Safely stowing it away in his pocket, Giles headed back over to the bookshop to find Megan again. She was standing at the counter with the owner, and together they were absorbed in several old leather bound volumes.

"Find what you were looking for?" Giles asked as he moved to join her.

Looking up with a smile, Megan said in what, for her, were excited tones, "Giles! I need advice about which to get of these two." She moved two of the selection of books toward him; one was entitled _'Reynard the Fox'_ by Thomas James Arnold and was a small leather-bound volume, not in the best of conditions. The other was a larger second-hand paperback called _'Reynard, Renart, Reinaert and Other Foxes in Medieval England'._

"I'm sure Ethan would like either one." Giles glanced at the other books she hadn't brought forward. "These ones have already been dismissed?"

"I can't afford them," she answered with simple honesty.

There was something about the wistful way in which Megan glanced back at the books that told Giles she wasn't completely happy about the choice that had been forced on her. "But there's one that you wish you could."

She carefully lifted a larger leather-bound volume and brought it forward. Called _'The History of Reynard the Fox'_, it had an embossed emblem of a fox in a frock coat on the front. Megan opened it and delicately flicked through the pages revealing plates of both engravings and full colour images, all featuring animals dressed as humans and up to no good. It was like a twisted Beatrix Potter.

The shop proprietor smiled at Giles and said, "It's a relatively late edition, but presented in a more luxurious format than previous printings and in excellent condition. I'm afraid I'm asking seventy-five pounds for it."

It was clear that Megan was drawn to this book, and Giles could easily picture Ethan's reaction to receiving it. Making a decision, he reached for his wallet. "We'll take it."

Megan's hand grasped his wrist. "Giles, no. I can't possibly. Mom... she doesn't send me much, and she likes me to send her the bills for all the big purchases."

"Consider it part of your workman's compensation for what happened a fortnight ago," Giles said, taking the money out of his wallet and pressing it into her hand. "A bonus for going above and beyond."

For a moment, Giles was genuinely worried that Megan was going to burst into tears, but then she swallowed and turned back to the proprietor, solemnly passing over the four twenty-pound notes. Once the book was carefully wrapped in tissue and a plastic bag, and they'd left the shop, Giles suddenly found himself with his arms full of exceedingly grateful young woman.

"You're welcome," Giles said with a smile, patting her back.

She pulled back, still grinning hugely, and asked, "Where now?"

"St. George's Market," he replied, naming the large indoor marketplace he'd been to several times with Willow when she had been here. It had a nice eclectic collection of stalls, and hopefully, he could find a more public gift for his lover there.

As they walked, Megan asked, "Do you think I'll ever meet someone like Ethan? I mean, someone who will be for me what Ethan is for you."

What Ethan was to him... Lord, was that a complicated thing to try and define. But Giles thought he knew what Megan was asking. "You'll fall in love some day."

"Yeah..." Megan seemed dissatisfied with his answer.

"Not the answer you wanted?" Giles asked.

She waited until they had passed a screaming child and its harassed-looking mother before replying. "It's just that you and Ethan... Well, everyone says how you're meant to be together."

"So it's destiny you're looking for?"

"I'm not sure. Just, maybe, a sense of rightness." They were entering the marketplace as she spoke.

"There's no guarantee with any relationship," Giles told her. "Even Ethan and I... Well, we've spent more time apart than together, for a lot of reasons. A sense of rightness is something you have to work for, and at." He regarded her for a long moment. "All that being said, yes, I do think you'll find someone you can have that with."

Her smile was startling in response.

The market was busy and the long aisles of stalls were a tight squeeze to get through in places. They arranged to meet at the door if they got separated, and while Megan studied some silver earrings on one table, Giles' attention was drawn to the bric-a-brac stall next to it, where he spied a battered box that rang a bell with him.

Moving closer, Giles picked it up. It was an old Scalectrix racetrack set, the very one that Ethan had mentioned wanting for Christmas as a boy. The box looked in good, if not perfect, condition. If it were complete...

A nod from the stallholder gave Giles permission to open it up and look inside. There were two cars and a great deal of track, but it was hard to tell for sure if everything was there. He couldn't very well take it out and put it together to make sure; Giles decided he'd take it on faith that it was complete. This was too good a find to pass up.

"How much?" he asked. It turned out to be a pittance, and the exchange was quickly concluded.

Giles was just taking hold of the carrier when Megan appeared at his arm, tugging. "Giles, you have to come and see this!"

Bemused, Giles let her drag him off. "What am I supposed to be... oh."

Megan had led him to a nearby craft stall where she'd pointed out an oval-shaped hand mirror. What was significant about it was the frame – carved mahogany showing a twisted design, almost like those found on old church pews. The intricate carving was a wild, interweaving dance all around the mirror of foxes and badgers.

"Oh, that's just perfect," Giles murmured. Not only foxes and badgers, but the mirror itself; he hadn't forgotten Ethan calling him his mirror.

Megan grinned, clearly proud that she'd found it.

It was fairly expensive, but as the stallholder pointed out, it was exquisitely hand-carved by a local craftsman, and anyway, Giles really didn't care about the money when the gift was so apposite. He handed over the money, accepting the wrapped mirror in return.

Turning to Megan, Giles exchanged a warm smile with her. They clasped their respective parcels with satisfaction.

Sick or not, Ethan was going to have the very best birthday they could provide.

***

Giles and Megan left the gifts safely stowed in the car's boot when they got back from what seemed like a very long morning's shopping in Exeter, and they immediately went in search of Ethan and Kat.

Hearing voices, they followed them to the kitchen.

Kat, who had her back to the door, seemed to be making tea and sandwiches. Ethan was perched on a barstool by the central island. The local newspaper was spread out in front of him, but he clearly wasn't reading it, since he was looking at the doorway when Giles and Megan walked in, and he was already grinning in welcome.

"Hello, you two," he said, holding an arm out to catch Giles for a kiss. "Did we have a nice time playing tourist while others slaved diligently over their lessons?"

Giles leant over to give Ethan the requested kiss, relishing the little zing of their magics brushing against each other; it seemed to accompany every touch now.

"It was fun," Megan said, sliding onto the stool opposite Ethan.

"Get me anything nice?" Ethan asked, smirking fondly at her. Giles saw her face freeze in confused alarm, and he hurriedly coughed to draw Ethan's attention away from the girl.

"We might've picked up a little something for you," Giles said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the wrapped package of one of Ethan's favourite type of sweets.

Grinning wolfishly, Ethan unwrapped the small box, revealing cubes of rosewater and lemon flavoured Turkish delight. He immediately popped a piece into his mouth and only then thought to offer the box around.

Kat, Giles noticed, had yet to turn and say hello. She seemed to have been focusing all her concentration on making the sandwiches and tea, but finished, she turned around with the plate she'd arranged her work on. "Good thing I made lots of extra," she said, smiling at them.

Megan made a small noise in her throat as she stared at her fellow Slayer, and Giles himself felt a little stunned. Kat's face was lavishly made up. She looked like... a singer from an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical perhaps, or even a Kabuki character.

Someone –and Giles could easily guess who as he recognised the artful style– had carefully matched the wild colours in the girl's hair, creating huge and extravagant eye displays like butterfly wings, cheekbones highlighted with something iridescent and peacock-coloured, and lips like a Victorian china doll's.

She looked unreal and fae, especially in such a mundane setting, and yet quite stunningly beautiful.

"Slaving diligently over your lessons?" Giles asked, glancing at Ethan with a raised eyebrow.

"I never said that _we_ slaved over anything," Ethan pointed out, chuckling. "Just that 'others' had, and I'm certain that's true of someone somewhere. You really should listen more carefully, dearheart. Well, aren't you going to tell Kat how delightful she is?"

Megan slipped from her stool and went over to the other girl to take a closer look at the masterpiece. "It's amazing," she said. "Wow, Kat..."

Kat smiled brilliantly. "It's great, isn't it? Ethan's a wiz with the makeup."

"He always has been," Giles said, casting a fond glance at his lover, before turning back to Kat. "You look wonderful."

She beamed at him and put the plate of sandwiches on the island. Giles noticed that the girl's nails had mysterious grown into multicoloured talons, complete with what looked like sequins. Ethan immediately switched from Turkish delight to sardines in malted granary as if the tastes didn't clash at all, which Giles sincerely doubted.

Kat brought the teapot over, standing it carefully on the cork mat on the Formica work-surface. "Did you manage to get the things on my list?" she asked.

"Yep!" Megan replied, picking up one of the sandwiches. "Every single thing. Giles and I were a shopping machine."

"Where are they?" Kat asked, looking around Giles and Megan as if they somehow had the bags hidden on them.

Megan opened her mouth, about to answer, when Ethan suddenly reached over and put his fingers to her cheek, pushing her face gently to the side. He stared, apparently at the Slayer's ear, then said "Megan?" questioningly. "Is there something you've neglected to mention to your favourite Watcher?"

"I... uh..." Megan glanced at Kat then back to Ethan. "Yes?"

Ethan seemed to notice the hesitation. "Do you want to come into the other room with me and have a little chat?"

Megan hesitated again, shooting another glance at Kat, then at Giles, her hand going to her ear and toying with her earring, which Giles couldn't quite get a good look at. Then her spine straightened, and she turned back to Ethan. "That's okay. I don't need... The whole point of getting these was... was to start coming out. To let people know that I'm... that Ilikegirls."

Ethan nodded slowly, but was quiet for a few seconds. Then he slipped from his stool, walking around to the other side of the island, and he wrapped his arms around Megan. "Well done, my dear. Very well done indeed."

Kat looked at the pair in utter confusion and then up at Giles. "Uh, what?"

Giles opened his mouth to say... he wasn't quite sure what, but was interrupted by Megan who had pulled away from Ethan to face Kat.

"I'm gay," she said clearly.

Kat stared at the other Slayer, the expression exaggerated by her outlandish makeup. "Yeah, and? What's the big deal here?"

Ethan made a noise Giles could only describe as tittering.

"You're not..." Megan began, pausing as if searching for the right word and finally settling on, "surprised?" Her hand moved to one of her ears, playing with the studs in her lobes, and Giles could finally see that they showed linked Venus symbols.

"Should I be?" Kat's puzzlement seemed utterly genuine. "Like, I always thought you were. Was I not supposed to know?"

Ethan slipped his arm around Giles and murmured into his ear, "Aren't you proud of our little ones, darling?" and then giggled.

Megan was looking at Kat in total shock, and Giles judged that his and Ethan's combined presence was no longer needed. "Come on," he said quietly, taking Ethan's hand and pulling him towards the door.

Ethan resisted briefly, apparently reassuring himself the girls were fine and then pushed his box of Turkish delight into a pocket and a couple of the small sandwiches into his mouth. He picked up his mug of tea with his spare hand, and grinning at Giles around his mouthful, he then allowed himself to be led from the room.

By unspoken agreement, they headed upstairs to their bedroom. As soon as the door was closed, Ethan put down the things he was carrying and wordlessly moved into Giles' embrace. Giles wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes, just soaking up his presence.

After a long moment, Ethan moaned happily. "I might have missed you. Possibly."

"I definitely missed you," Giles replied. "I can safely say I was thinking about you the entire time."

"That's sweet," Ethan chuckled, clearly not believing him. Giles felt a wet tongue playing with his earlobe.

Giles relaxed his controls and let more of his magic flow over them both, loving the way it made Ethan all but purr. "Do you know we're relationship role models now?"

There was another low chuckle close to Giles' ear, then, "That's quite reprehensible of us. Really. Little Meggie wants to grow up to be just like daddy and daddy, does she?"

"She asked me if I thought she'd ever meet someone who'd be for her what you are for me."

Somehow, Giles could feel Ethan grow more serious in response to that. "What does she believe that is?"

"Destiny." Giles slid a hand up to cup the back of Ethan's head, threading his fingers through his hair. "She said she wants the sense of rightness we have."

"Oh..." Ethan tensed momentarily then relaxed again with a soft snort; Giles felt the little puff of air on his neck. "We really do have that now." Ethan's tone sounded almost awed. "I... Well, it's a little bewildering for my poor old brain to take in. Sometimes even now I..." He stopped, tense again.

"Have problems believing this is real?" Giles asked softly.

"Yes," Ethan admitted very quietly, his body utterly still. "Sometimes I fear I'm still hallucinating."

Giles pulled back and took Ethan's face between his hands, urging him to meet his eyes. When Ethan did, Giles leant in and kissed him gently, consciously directing his magic through them both. "This is real," he said, pulling back enough to watch Ethan's dark gaze. "I'll keep telling you that whenever you need to hear it."

Ethan met his eyes, but he seemed to be blinking a lot. "If this were a dream... well, what would that say about me? That I've secretly longed to be redeemed all this time? That I wanted to be a... father? That I wanted to find out that I was more than just Chaos, to myself and to you?" He laughed without humour. "When I put it that way, I become ever more convinced I'm off in Never Never Land. It's too much, too perfect..." He pulled away from Giles and went to the window.

"With everything we've been through, I'd say we deserved a little bit of rightness." Giles crossed the room, sliding his arms around Ethan's waist from behind and looking out the window. "If you need convincing it's real and not a perfect dream, I could always ring Francesca and tell her you want her opinion on Slayer training."

Some of the tension in Ethan's body immediately vanished as he laughed. "I'm sorry, Rupert. I don't really know where that came from." Giles felt Ethan's arms wrap over his own. "Tell me more about your morning."

"Shopping with a teenage girl is always an adventure," Giles said, keeping his tone light, and not getting into any specifics. "And, of course, there was the big revelation on the drive to town."

"Our little girl's a dyke. I'm so proud."

Giles chuckled. "You did exactly the right thing in the kitchen just now. Megan's had... issues about being accepted in the past."

"Her ghastly mother again?" Ethan asked, sounding concerned.

"I doubt she's even considered broaching the subject with her mother," Giles said, thinking about what he knew of that very strict and overly critical woman. "No, this was a girl her own age."

"Oh. Poor Meglet." Ethan sounded upset for the Slayer, and he tipped his head back to nuzzle against Giles' cheek. "I suppose a little bit of matchmaking on our part wouldn't be the done thing?"

"Know a lot of teenage lesbians to set her up with, do you?"

"We could hold auditions."

Giles nuzzled Ethan's ear. "Wouldn't Francesca love that?"

Ethan sniggered and rubbed back against Giles like an affectionate cat seeking a stroke. "Perhaps it would give her apoplexy. That would be one thorn in our side nicely removed at the same time as one Slayer is made happy. Very efficient."

"Perhaps we should see if we can just put Megan in a target-rich environment and give her a chance to stretch her wings on her own," Giles counter-suggested, sliding a hand under Ethan's shirt and over the bare skin of his stomach.

"Mmm." Ethan responded to the touch, rubbing more energetically back against Giles. Then he sighed and stilled, slumping a little. "Before this goes any further towards where I very much hope it's going, I really ought to tell you about our other girl's little revelation today."

"Does this have to do with the new image you helped give her?" Giles asked, continuing to move his fingers lightly over Ethan's skin – a comfort to both of them.

"Not in any direct sense. Kat is having doubts about her path." Ethan twisted around in Giles' arms. "Can we sit down? My legs seem to be tired."

"Of course," Giles said immediately, moving to sit in the overstuffed armchair and pulling Ethan down onto his lap. He did his best to ignore the surge of worry about Ethan's health and turned his mind back to their conversation. "Kat doesn't want to be a Slayer?"

"She's... uncertain. Megan's injury has scared her." Ethan pulled a wry face. "Can't imagine why."

"It's always difficult when fate proves exactly how vulnerable you can be," Giles said softly. He still moved his hands over Ethan's skin, lightly, absently.

Ethan moved on Giles' lap and looped his arms loosely around Giles' neck. "Kat isn't scared for herself. She fears harming someone through a failure to act effectively or on time. For all the bravado, she's a gentle soul, I think."

"She's very sensitive to the emotions of others around her," Giles agreed. "I should have talked to her more when the attack happened." He shook his head, letting go of the doubts and self-recriminations as counter-productive. "I'll do so now."

"_Now_ now?" Ethan asked, pouting slightly.

Giles smiled a little. "Not right this minute, no."

"As you see, I'm a sick man," Ethan said, continuing to pout, but with a twinkle in his eye. "I need care that is loving, but not necessarily all that tender."

"Any kind of care in particular?" Giles asked, his hand sliding down from Ethan's chest to rest on his thigh.

Ethan's face moved in close, and his tongue flicked out and across Giles' lips. "Well, I've had my Turkish delight," he purred. "Now I think I'd rather like a taste of a more home-grown variety."

"Greedy," Giles murmured against Ethan's mouth, although all he did was deepen the contact.

Ethan's tongue slipped inside Giles' mouth, and with it came a breath-catching throb of Ethan's magic; magic that made Giles' lips tingle and his cock twitch in response.

"You taste sweet," Giles said, tilting his head back and letting Ethan drag lips down his throat, trailing magic behind. "Still not used to it."

Ethan licked around Giles' Adam's apple. "Presuming you're not just talking about the Turkish delight, how did I used to taste?"

Giles closed his eyes, his free hand coming out to brush against the soft hair at the nape of Ethan's neck. "Sharper, more bitter."

Ethan wriggled around until he was straddling Giles and then returned to licking and kissing, planting traces of magic wherever he touched. "I hope I don't become saccharin," he murmured.

"I don't think that's going to be a problem," Giles replied, grasping Ethan's hips and thrusting up against him as he lost himself in the magic. Groaning in response, Ethan began to rotate his hips. Giles felt a hand slip behind his head, lifting it slightly, and then Ethan was kissing him deeply.

It was then that someone chose to knock loudly on the bedroom door.

"Bloody hell," Giles growled. Raising his voice, but making no attempt to move out from under his lover, he asked, "What is it?"

"Uh, Giles?" It was Kat's voice calling through the door. "There's a phone call for you."

Giles sighed and buried his face in Ethan's shoulder for a brief moment, soaking in his presence before reluctantly pulling back. "I shouldn't be long," he tsaid as he stood, leaving Ethan sitting in the chair alone.

"Can't they take a message?" Ethan asked, clearly a little exasperated.

"Don't you think the girls would have already asked that?" He leant over and kissed Ethan one more time. "It's probably Council business."

Ethan muttered something about the Council under his breath as Giles left the room. Giles considered it was probably a good thing that he couldn't make it out.

***

Well, that was just fine. Ethan was not particularly happy with being left, hard and wanting so that Rupert could talk to Watcher HQ or whoever it was. They were on _holiday_. There wasn't meant to be any business here. Ah well, at least he could drink his tea.

Or not, as it was cold.

Ethan ate the sandwiches instead and looked out of the window for a minute or so. Then he mooched around the room, weakly kicking at things. Still no Rupert.

Oh sod this. Ethan quietly opened the door and went out. He headed downstairs, not exactly creeping, but being careful not to make much in the way of noise.

The phone was in the living room, and the door was open a crack, enough to hear Rupert's voice, which sounded... stressed. Ethan sat down on the bottom step and listened.

"I don't care what she's blathering about, Pamela. She can insist all she wants. She can paint herself bright blue for all I care. That doesn't change the way things are run."

Right. So Francesca was creating trouble for them even here. That didn't surprise Ethan at all.

There was a pause before Rupert, sounding even more stressed, said, "No. Absolutely not. There's no way–" A short pause. "No, not even for a couple of days."

Oh no. They wanted Rupert to go back to London. Not now. Ethan _needed _him. Ethan always needed Rupert, but the Chaos withdrawal sickness was only going to get worse for a while yet; the thought of doing without Rupert during this time was... not fun. He wrapped his arms around his legs and resting his chin glumly on his knees

Giles' voice rose, took on a sharp edge. "I said _no_, Pamela. We're in the middle of something that's impossible for me to leave. Ms Travers can bloody well wait for the next regular meeting, just like everybody else. Emergency meetings are only for impending apocalypses, not whining about the way business is conducted."

Ethan didn't want to wait on the stairs anymore. Rupert was getting angry and needed soothing. Rupert was refusing to leave him and needed... rewarding. Ethan stood up, wincing when his knees cracked, and pushed open the door to the living room just wide enough to slip inside.

"There's nothing you need to do," Giles was saying when he spotted Ethan; his gaze softened, and he held out an arm to him as he continued on the phone. "Francesca can throw as many temper tantrums as she wants; it won't change anything."

Slipping into Rupert's open arm, Ethan wrapped his own arms around Rupert and gently hugged him, nuzzling into his neck. He was worried, truth to tell, about Francesca and what she might be up to. Ethan recognised qualities in the woman that he feared Rupert was blind to. Well, not blind, just unaware of how deeply they ran.

Rupert tightened his arm around Ethan, and Ethan could feel the rumble of his voice as he spoke. "Of course I'll keep in touch. You're doing fine, Pamela. Don't let Francesca get to you. Now if that's everything..." There was a brief pause. "Goodbye, Pamela."

He hung up the phone and turned to pull Ethan into a full embrace.

Snuggling as close as possible, Ethan kissed Giles' neck and the line of his jaw. "What has Cruella done now, dearheart?"

"Same tune, different verse." Rupert sighed, turning his head enough to catch Ethan's lips. "Nothing for you to worry about, love."

"I sincerely doubt that," Ethan argued, but then he kissed Rupert, effectively ending conversation for a few minutes at least.

If Rupert didn't want to talk about it, Ethan was prepared to drop the matter for now. He wished briefly that he'd made more of an effort to get along with Pamela Smythe-Tompkins, Rupert's right hand woman in the Council. Had he done, Ethan could have called her now and got the facts of the matter directly. Ah well, he'd get them one way or another.

He wasn't about to let Francesca Travers hurt Rupert.


	13. Chapter 13

_ **Then...** _

"Well, this is unexpectedly cordial of you, old chum." Ethan beamed genially as Rupert drunkenly searched his pockets for the door keys. "I never thought I'd get to see the inside of this Watcherly retreat."

Rupert snorted then put out a hand against the door as even that seemed to be enough to throw him off-balance. "Not a Wa... Watcherly retreat. Not a Watcher."

"And yet here you still are in Sunnydale, watching a Slayer."

"Have to see her in order to watch her." On the third go-round of his pockets, Rupert finally pulled out his keys. "There!" he said triumphantly. "Knew I had them."

"Bravo!" Ethan exclaimed, clapping his hands. It was important to pretend to be as plastered as Rupert was, although he wasn't exactly having to exaggerate a great deal. His gaze wandered down Rupert's body, wondering exactly how 'cordial' his long time ex-lover was feeling.

Rupert tried to put the key in the keyhole and missed. "Stand still," he growled at the door then tried again, this time sliding the key home and turning it.

"You once told me that there was something sexually symbolic about keys entering locks," Ethan said and giggled. "Second time lucky then."

"Is that what this is?" Rupert asked, blinking blearily at him, holding onto the doorknob and swaying slightly. "Chatting up the waitress didn't work –and since when did you swing that way?– so decided to try your luck with good ol' pathetic Rupert?"

Ethan blinked. Ignoring the waitress crack –he'd had his reasons for that, but he had no intention of telling Rupert what they were– he walked forward and touched the other man's shoulder. "You're hardly an easy alternative, mate," he reassured. "You're more likely to beat the crap out of me than kiss me."

"Your own fault," Rupert told him, turning back to the door and opening it then stumbling inside. "Always asking for it."

"Really?" Ethan asked, amused, as he followed the drunken man in, closing the door behind them. "How do I do that exactly?"

In the middle of trying to take off his jacket, Rupert stopped and gave him a look of disbelief. "You try to kill people. You try to kill _my_ Slayer. 'Course I'm going to beat the crap out of you."

"Oh, come now." Ethan pouted, slinking closer to Rupert and helping him with his jacket. "I've never thrown anything at your precious Slayer that she couldn't handle easily enough." He ran light fingers down the back of the other man's shirt. "Let's not fight, Ripper. Not tonight. Plenty of time for that in the morning."

He got another bleary look. "You're not going to be here in the morning."

Ethan didn't argue. "Exactly. Safer that way, don't you think?" Far safer than Rupert realised in fact.

"You're always leaving," Rupert complained. "Makes it difficult to thrash you or anything else."

Ethan frowned and moved his hand, stroking fingertips over Rupert's cheek so lightly that the other man might not even be able to feel them, whisky-numbed as he obviously was. "You only want me to stay so that you can chuck me out on my arse. I suppose I could give you that pleasure, but you'd have to make the sacrifice _very_ rewarding."

Rupert moved away from Ethan, heading for the bottles of scotch that were sitting on the half-wall that divided the kitchen from the living room. Ethan moved quickly and got there first, blocking Rupert's access. "Really, my dear. You've had more than enough. How about a nice cup of tea?"

That earned him a glare. "You still here?"

Ethan was so used to disguising the hurt by now that he knew not even a flicker of how he felt inside showed on his face. Still, at least it eased the tiny pangs of guilt he'd been feeling since Rupert had unexpectedly invited him back here. It helped remind him of exactly why Rupert deserved his lot. "Tea?" he asked again, smiling insincerely.

Rupert didn't answer, just stumbled over to the sofa. "Everybody leaves," he said, as he collapsed onto the cushions. "You're no different. You're going to leave too."

"If I believed for one tiny fraction of a moment that you wanted me to stay, Rupert..." Ethan frowned as he stood behind the sofa, realising he was more drunk than he'd thought if he could almost say such things. Quickly changing his intended words, he finished with, "Why, I'd have to assume you weren't Rupert Giles at all. As everyone knows how much we hate each other."

Rubbing his face, Ethan headed into the small kitchenette.

He set about making tea, concentrating on the mundane task. Putting the kettle on, he looked back out into the living room; Rupert was a picture of abject misery. He was slumped back against the cushions, one arm over his eyes, a cloud of depression seeming to hover around him.

Sighing softly, Ethan removed a small vial from his pocket. It contained a powder that magically removed alcohol from one's body, and it was the reason he could drink anyone under the table. He tipped a goodly amount into his own mug, then pondered how much, if any, to give Rupert. He wanted the other man drunk enough to be unwise, but not so drunk that he was incapable of doing the unwise things Ethan was now craving.

There was also the matter of how the powder might interact with the other substance he'd already fed an unknowing Rupert earlier in the night.

In the end, Ethan added a tiny pinch and stirred it in. Carrying the two mugs out and placing them on the coffee table, he sat down beside the other man. He patted Rupert's leg encouragingly. "Buck up, old chum. Things could be a lot worse." Again, Ethan felt a minuscule stab of guilt.

Rupert lifted his head and opened his eyes to look at Ethan. "You still here?" he asked again, although this time his tone of voice was completely different, like he actually wanted the answer to be yes.

"I've made you some tea. Drinking it might help a little." Ethan left his hand on the other man's leg.

Rupert hadn't looked away from Ethan's face. "You're still here," he repeated, this time a statement not a question.

Ethan frowned. "Yes, I'm still, quite evidently, here." The staring continued, and it was beginning to really bother him. He shifted nervously on the sofa and removed his hand from Rupert's leg. "Drink your tea, there's a love." He started to bend forward to pick up his own mug...

He heard Rupert mutter something that could have been "Bugger it," and then Rupert was kissing Ethan breathless.

Pushed back into the couch, Ethan found his body responding automatically to Rupert's embrace, the way it had long ago been accustomed to do so. Yielding control, Ethan moaned into the kiss. Rupert tasted of whisky and desperation, loneliness and resignation, and he pushed Ethan further into the sofa's cushions, covering him with his body. It had been years, but Rupert's hands unerringly sought out all of Ethan's hot spots.

Ethan had forced himself to almost forget quite how desperate he was –had always been– for this. For Rupert's touches, both hard and gentle, for the taste of him, the weight of him above Ethan, the little noises he'd always made and was making again now... all of it. The whole experience of 'Ripper' that having once had, Ethan had never been able to stop craving. There was no such thing as an ex-alcoholic and no such thing as being over Rupert Giles.

"Ripper," he muttered against the other man's lips. "Oh, my Ripper."

That got him kissed even harder, Rupert's hips pushing against his. "Upstairs," Rupert gasped between kisses, finally, reluctantly, pulling back. "Now."

Ethan stared at Rupert in a way that he realised must look a little desperate. He shook his head briefly, trying to clear his thoughts, then stumbled to his feet, heading for the stairs. The tea with its dose of sobering magic sat forgotten on the table...

 

...Quite some time later, Rupert chuckled huskily, sounding much more sober than he had before they'd come upstairs. "This is quite probably the last place I would have thought I'd end up tonight."

They were lying together on Rupert's bed, covered in nothing but drying sweat and other fluids. Their clothing, some of it the worse for wear, lay in a pile on the floor. The air was redolent with the scent of sex, and echoes of the cries and groans which had accompanied their vigorous fucking still seemed to resound in the loft.

"I assume you mean in my arms," Ethan replied, briefly tightening the arm he had thrown over the other man's chest. "As I doubt ending up in your own bed is that unexpected an event." He kissed Rupert's shoulder... and felt sad as he knew it wouldn't be much longer before he was thrown bodily from this small Eden.

He rolled onto his back. "Are you craving a cigarette as much as I am?"

"Don't have any." Rupert stretched then rolled over and rested his head on Ethan's shoulder, his arm snaking over Ethan's chest, in an exact mirror image of the position they'd just been in. "Haven't smoked since... well, the last time you were in town. Blasted candy."

"You had fun," Ethan pointed out, confident it was the truth. But he knew that if they discussed that time for long, the subject of sacrifices would come up. Ethan honestly hadn't known what the vampire and his boss were after, but the fact was, he hadn't cared. It was just another chance to mess up Rupert's world... empty vengeance, really. The satisfaction never lasted.

Changing the subject just enough, Ethan said, "I gave up tobacco after an unfortunate incident involving an angry witch and a small fortune in illegal botanicals."

"You never learn, do you?" Rupert sighed, although the hostility that Ethan had grown used to hearing was noticeably absent.

Ethan rolled back to his side, unable to keep from touching Rupert while he was still allowed to do so. "On the contrary, I learnt years ago. I simply have no reason to care."

Rupert fell silent, running a hand over Ethan's skin, his expression one of deep thought. Ethan trailed his own fingers over the other man's face, tracing Rupert's cheekbones and his lips.

"Penny for them?" he asked.

"Sometimes I wish I could stop caring too."

Ethan's gaze dropped as he contemplated that this day might be sooner than Rupert realised, fyarls not being known for caring for much beyond what to eat and who to hit. There was still plenty of time to stop the transformation. Perhaps when Rupert finally sobered up enough to realise with whom he was in bed, Ethan would be a good boy for once and do the reversal. After the inevitable expulsion, of course. Rupert would never know how close he'd been to super-strength... and super-stupidity.

Ethan found himself saying, "Not caring is easy. You just need to lose everything you care about." He sighed. Those words had completely by-passed his brain and gone straight to his tongue.

The ghost of a smile that held no humour in it passed over Rupert's features. "I haven't quite managed that knack."

"I don't, in all seriousness, recommend it," Ethan replied, frowning. "Rupert, what is the matter? I thought this was just classic midlife crisis stuff, but you're worrying me." It was true, more or less.

"I don't... Maybe it is a midlife crisis, but... I've no job, no friends –well, none that are old enough to drink anyway– no purpose... Can you have a midlife crisis when you don't have a life?" Rupert shook his head slowly. "Why am I still here?"

"Because you haven't yet decided where you'd rather be, I imagine." Ethan found he was stroking Rupert's hair and made himself stop. "That, and you haven't quite given up on trying to get blood from a stone."

"Hard to give up when all you have is the stone."

Ethan wasn't a stone, no matter how hard he tried to be, but he knew he didn't count. Nonetheless, there was clearly far too much alcohol still in his body as he lifted his arm up and said, "You want blood, my dear? Just cut, it's yours."

Rupert stared at him for a long moment then slowly reached for Ethan's arm, bringing it to his lips and dropping a kiss on his pulse point. Ethan shivered and stared back at Rupert, alarmed by the feelings that such a tender action brought immediately to the surface. He opened his mouth to say something that would distract from the intensity of the moment, but he could find no words.

"I don't want your blood, Ethan," Rupert said softly, brushing his thumb over the spot he'd just kissed. He met Ethan's eyes with a rueful smile. "I may have wanted it in the past..." His expression became more serious as he appeared to change subject. "Maybe..."

Ethan gently removed his hand and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, saying nothing immediately. It hurt, being here like this. It wasn't like the other occasions since their London days; those rare times when Rupert had, for reasons of his own, opted for the door marked 'kiss' instead of 'kick'. Those had been brief encounters indeed, Ethan either being told coldly to leave, or disappearing before Rupert had a chance to say it, after the sex was done with.

"Maybe what?" he asked, trying very hard to keep his tone casual and knowing that he'd failed.

But Rupert seemed as afraid to say it as Ethan was to hear it; instead of answering he leant over and pressed his lips against Ethan's. Maybe that was answer enough. Or would have been, if Ethan could be certain what the question was.

He kissed back for a short while, but the kiss was gentle and almost loving, and it hurt far worse than any beating he'd ever had at the other man's hands. Ultimately, he pushed Rupert away from him, not hard, but firmly enough to show he meant business. "Don't," Ethan mumbled. "_I'm_ meant to be the liar, not you."

Something complicated flashed through Rupert's eyes, and he took the rebuke, rolling onto his side, facing away from Ethan. He still, however, didn't ask Ethan to leave.

It was, nonetheless, undoubtedly time for Ethan to go, but somehow he was still lying there. He knew he should leave now, reverse the spell before it could take effect –in gratitude for Rupert's sweetness– and then get the hell out of Dodge for another year or so. Every second he remained in this bed, Ethan was giving the universe permission to hurt him further. He sighed heavily, still not moving.

Rupert, when he finally spoke, did so in a barely audible whisper. "So there's no going back, is there." It was a statement, not a question.

Ethan immediately turned to look at the other man. "Are you talking about us, or some other burnt bridge?"

"Yes." Rupert was still facing away from him.

"Helpful," Ethan commented, rolling his eyes.

"What do you want me to say, Ethan?" Exasperation was beginning to creep into Rupert's tone.

"Well, actually answering my question would be a help, mate." Ethan carefully didn't use an endearment.

"I did. We can't go back, any more than we can change anything else that has happened." Rupert laughed bitterly. "We've made this bed, and now we're forced to lie in it."

Ethan gave up trying to understand Rupert. He ran fingers slowly down the other man's spine to the tailbone, thinking that tomorrow, if he didn't stop it, Rupert would have an actual tail. "There are no chains, no guns, no reason I can see not to burn the bed and buy a new one."

Rupert looked over his shoulder at Ethan. "Just as easy as that."

Ethan shrugged. "You did it before."

There was another bitter laugh. "That bed burned all on its own."

Anger quickened inside him. "No, it didn't, Ripper. Really, it didn't. I should know. I'm still bloody sleeping in the mess you left, night aft–" It was time to leave. Ethan sat up, rubbing his face with slightly shaking hands. "Well, it's been nice."

Rupert rolled over onto his back. "That's what I thought," he said curtly, staring at the ceiling.

Ethan made the mistake of turning to look at the other man, and like Lot's wife, he was suddenly made motionless. He could almost feel his flesh granulate. "Oh, Ripper," he sighed. "You'd only have to ask, you know."

"What do you think I've been doing?" Rupert glanced sideways, meeting his gaze. "You could ask too, you know."

Ethan slid around on the bed to face Rupert, still more or less sitting. He placed his hand over the other man's breastbone and held it there. "You know I can't ask. That's why I needed you: to see me, to _take_ what I needed to have ripped from me."

Rupert gave him a troubled look. "I need... some sort of... word. Some sort of evidence that this is, could be, real."

Ethan stared at Rupert in disbelief. "_You_ need it? What about...? Oh, I see." His expression soured, and he looked away. "This is your little revenge on me, isn't it? Get the silly old Chaos sorcerer to admit how much he still lo–" He swallowed. "Still wants the obedient minion of Order and then laugh at him." Looking back, Ethan let his mouth smile while his eyes, he was sure, told another story. "Make merry then. I'll be your clown for tonight."

A flicker of anger flashed across Rupert's features. "That's exactly what I mean. Every time I... we... _this_ happens, you say or do something to push me away."

Ethan felt his expression harden further. Rupert had apparently completely lost the art of _hearing_ Ethan. What use was any of this if Rupert couldn't get beneath the masks anymore? "Don't blame me for your self-hatred," he said coldly. "I've never fought you. I've always let you take whatever you want from me."

He turned and got out of the bed.

"Ethan, wait." Rupert sat up, rubbing his face with his hands. "Look, perhaps we should call it a night. We're both tired and drunk and seemed to have discovered a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing." He dropped his hands and looked up. "But I want to have this conversation again in the morning." Rupert gave him the ghost of a smile. "Try one more time to find the right words."

If Ethan stayed the night, there was no way that Rupert would be able to find the right words in the morning. "I could come back," he offered, picking up his boxers.

"I could make breakfast," Rupert offered in turn, with something like hope in his voice.

"Yes," Ethan nodded. "I miss your porridge. I'll come back for that." He smiled briefly to show that he was joking. Putting the rest of his clothes on quickly, he walked around to Rupert's side of the bed and perched beside him, kissing him on the forehead. "There's something I have to do, or I'd stay now."

"That's okay. I'm getting used to people having better things to do than talk to me." He smiled, reaching out and pulling Ethan in for one more kiss. "In the morning then?"

"Yes. Be seeing you, dearheart."

Ethan pulled the bedroom door to as he left.

Downstairs, he noticed the mugs and their cold tea. The sobriety powder had left an unpleasant and obvious scum on the surface now the heat was gone, and Ethan decided to quickly wash up in case Rupert got the wrong idea in the morning.

While he washed, he mused. Rupert really seemed to want... what? To try again? To be lovers again? Whatever scraps of contact it meant, Ethan would agree. How could he not?

If only he could believe that it wasn't just the alcohol talking. Oh, he'd be here tomorrow morning; he was that much of a fool, but he fully expected to be laughed at and sent packing. Perhaps he'd even find the Slayer here waiting to beat him up, and wouldn't that be fun? Although really, that was unlikely as Ripper had always preferred to handle that side of things himself.

He'd better get a move on; there wasn't that much time left in which to do the reversal spell.

Sighing, Ethan hung up the tea towel and walked back into the living room for his jacket. While donning it, he noticed a small book with a pen beside it on the desk, and it was so obviously a diary that he couldn't resist walking over and picking it up.

One by one, he flicked through the pages, Rupert's pedantic hand like an old friend...

Or enemy.

Fifteen minutes later, Ethan left Rupert's house with no intention of ever returning. The smirk on his face felt as cruel and cold as the acid eating away his heart.

***

_ **Now...** _

Ethan was, he had to admit, glum. He was lying on the top of his and Rupert's bed, propped up with extra pillows so as to be almost sitting, and eyeing with extreme prejudice the gas cylinder and accompanying medical gubbins in the corner. It had been delivered this morning by men who'd looked at Ethan as if he'd got the plague... or more likely AIDS, knowing how people's minds worked.

What a wonderful birthday present it was, that ugly monstrosity and its innate promise of lungs that would function even less effectively than they were currently, and that was bad enough. Just the sight of the plastic mask made Ethan feel claustrophobic.

It was sufficiently depressing that Rupert had forgotten what date it was, without that... hulking metal elephant with the chipped black paint in the corner.

Bugger it. And where _was_ Rupert? Or at least someone to keep Ethan company. Maybe he could make it downstairs if he took it slowly. He could have, had they been at home, but the stairs in Lucy's farmhouse were long, twisting, and over-carpeted, and Ethan had felt unsafe on them just recently.

He pushed his head back into the pillows, knowing there was an ugly pout on his face, but as there was no one here to see it, he couldn't bring himself to care overly much.

There was a soft knock at the door, which almost immediately opened enough for Kat to stick her head in. "Ethan? You awake?"

While he was instantly filled with relief at the thought of company and conversation, Ethan wasn't prepared to let go of a perfectly good sulk immediately. "I must be," he said acidly. "My dreams are considerably more interesting."

Kat ignored his attitude as she came in and went over to examine the equipment that had been delivered. "So they came, huh?"

"Yes, do say hello to Jumbo, won't you?" The hard edge that his bad temper was giving to his voice took its toll, and Ethan began to cough. Which only increased his sense of hard done by anger.

Kat immediately sat on the bed beside him, her arms going around him to help support him through the spasm. When it eased, she pulled back and reached into her pocket, pulling out a small silver flask, which she offered to him. "I don't know how much help this will be, but I was talking to Mary and Jonah –they're the Coven's healers– and they taught me how to make some herbal potions and stuff. This one's supposed to be good for helping breathing."

Rupert had told him about how Kat had been showing an interest in the healing arts. Considering what had happened to the girl's brother, Ethan realised why it was important to Kat to try and help him through his illness. Since he'd become bed-bound, or at least upstairs-bound, she'd been with him more than anyone else except Rupert.

So he realised that he couldn't, in fairness, refuse the tincture, no matter how unenthused he was by the prospect of drinking some inevitably disgusting herbal gunk. "How much should I take?" he asked hoarsely.

"Just a swallow or two. It's supposed to be something that you can take a little of whenever you have a coughing attack."

Obligingly, Ethan opened the flask and swigged down a smallish mouthful. Then he licked his lips. "Actually, my dear, that's not bad. Tastes rather like Chartreuse, and I do believe it has already soothed the feeling of roughness a little." He smiled at her. "Clever girl."

Kat beamed. "I worked on the taste. The recipe that Mary gave me tasted really gross; so I tweaked it."

"I think you may have discovered a previously unknown talent." He looked fondly at her. "Thanks for coming up. I fear Rupert has had rather enough of my miserable company as he couldn't wait to get about business today."

"Giles is the one who sent me up," Kat informed him. "He's up to his elbows in stuff right now, but you can tell he'd rather be here."

"Very tactful of you, dear," Ethan chuckled. "So... what should we do with ourselves?" He gestured towards the TV and video that had been brought up for him. "I believe I have a tape or two left that I've only watched a mere three or four times so far."

"You could tell me stories of you and Giles in your wicked youth," Kat suggested, eyes bright with mischief.

"I'd love to," he grinned. "But I believe most of them would come under the category of 'bad influence'. To say that we ran wild would be understating." He relaxed against the pillows, smiling at the happy memories.

"I won't tell you're being a bad influence if you don't." Kat grinned at him. "You know you want to."

Ethan looked at her and rubbed the side of his face as he mentally reviewed the London days, trying to find something he could get away with recounting. "It really was just sex, drugs, magic, and rock and roll, I'm afraid... and often all at the same time."

Before Kat could answer, there was another knock at the door, and this time it was Megan who ducked her head in. "Can we join the party?"

"Who's 'we'?" Ethan asked, suddenly suspicious as there was a lot of muted noise coming from outside in the corridor.

"Just the people who wanted to come to your birthday gathering," Megan said, pushing open the door and coming in. She was followed by Rupert, Ian and Lucy. All of them were carrying brightly wrapped presents except Lucy. She was carrying a cake.

"Oh dear..." Ethan's eyes were wide, and his heart seemed to catch with the disbelief that this was really happening. He felt both embarrassed and hugely touched... or at least he would, he was sure, as soon as it sank in. The bedroom seemed suddenly very crowded, and Ethan's glance flickered around everyone almost nervously before settling on his lover. "Rupert..."

Rupert smiled at him. "Happy birthday, love."

He really should have known that not only would Rupert not have forgotten, but that he would have inveigled everyone else into this little celebration as well. Ethan held his hand out to Rupert and looked around the room, grinning happily. He was starting to relax now the initial surprise was fading, and his usual enjoyment of being the centre of attention was returning.

"Thank you. This is... wonderful. Are those presents for me? And cake?"

Lucy chuckled, placing the cake on the dresser. "It's for everyone, but you'll get the first and biggest piece."

"So are you surprised?" Megan asked, perching on the foot of the bed.

"Megan insisted on a surprise party," Rupert explained as he settled himself on the bed beside Ethan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Yes, I'm surprised," Ethan acknowledged. "I'd thought Rupert had forgotten. It's been rather a long time since the last birthday we spent together." He snuggled a little closer to the man in question.

Lucy handed Ethan a paper plate holding a fork and a hefty slice of what looked and smelled like cream-smothered coffee and hazelnut gateau... with small meringues... and possibly Tia Maria.

"Why Lucy," Ethan teased. "I'd never have believed you could be so indulgent." He forked himself up a mouthful and moaned quietly as rich flavours smothered his tongue.

"Make the most of it," she replied drily. "It doesn't happen often."

Ian teased her as he accepted his own plate. "You're just an old softie, admit it,"

"Watch it, unless you want to find your wing feathers mysteriously clipped one night." Lucy answered as she continued to hand out slices.

Ethan couldn't stop himself looking longingly around at the various gift-wrapped packages that had been brought into the room. Rupert caught the glances and chuckled. "I take it the lure of cake isn't as strong as the lure of gifts?"

Ethan glanced around at him. "I've not changed _that_ much, you know."

"The gifts!" Megan shoved the last few bites of cake into her mouth and dived for the pile of presents excitedly. It was nice to see her being so comfortably expressive. "You have to open mine first," she said, muffled by the cake still in her mouth. She brought over one of the packages to him.

After carefully putting his plate to one side, Ethan beamed at her and took the present. It's shape and weight immediately told him it was a book. Carefully undoing the wrapping paper, he found tissue underneath. Below that was the book itself: old and leather-bound, and with a picture of a fox on the front. "Oh..."

Ethan opened it carefully and flicked through, noticing many illustration plates. "Oh," he repeated. He glanced at Megan, smiling warmly; he was very touched by the thought that had clearly gone into the gift. "I had a copy of this –nowhere near such a nice one– a long time ago. It was destroyed in..." He looked down, smiling wryly at yet another story he couldn't tell. "In an unfortunate incident. Oh Megan, thank you. It's perfect."

She beamed. "Giles helped me pick it out," she said modestly.

"I did nothing of the sort," Rupert put in. "All I did was look and nod. It was Megan's decision the entire way."

Ethan pulled the girl close and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you, sweetheart. I know it was your choice." He got closer to her ear and whispered, "Rupert doesn't know about the fox."

Megan blushed and opened her mouth, but Kat interrupted, handing Ethan another present. "Mine next."

He felt the fat rectangle first, and then shook it. "Hmm, interesting." Grinning at Kat, he pulled off the paper to reveal a double video set of a TV series called _'Queer as Folk'_. He read the blurb on the back and then laughed loudly. "It's gay porn! Kat's bought me gay porn!"

"It's supposed to have a plot," Kat said, giggling. "Maybe... gay drama with porny overtones?"

"Oh, let's put it on now and watch the shag... drama." Ethan was aware he was getting just a little bit silly. He'd really never experienced anything like this in his life. This was the sort of birthday he'd fantasised about as a child. Well, not the porn so much, but the rest of it.

"You've still got presents to open," Megan reminded him, handing him another package.

This one was bigger than the ones before, and curiously, was wrapped in Christmas paper. It had no tag on it.

"Run out of the happy birthday wrap, did we?" He smirked as he opened the rattling gift. When Ethan saw the box inside, he felt momentarily struck dumb. He knew immediately whom it was from, and he had to struggle with a sudden lump in his throat. "Rupert," he murmured. "How ever did you...?" Opening the box, Ethan lifted out one of the cars. "Oh God. It's exactly the one."

"I stumbled across it at the market in Exeter," Rupert said, smiling at him. "I was going to save it until Christmas, but I didn't think I could keep it hidden that long. The paper was a compromise."

Ethan carefully put the car back in the box and moved the box to one side so that he could hug Rupert. He nuzzled into Rupert's neck, wanting –needing– to stay there until he could calm down a little. He was beginning to feel just a little bit overwhelmed.

Rupert just held him for a moment then tilted Ethan's head back enough to kiss him. "You can play with the cars while watching your gay porn," he teased softly.

Ethan really didn't want to let go, but he knew he was being a bit of a drama queen. After exchanging a long and fairly intense glance with Rupert, he heaved a deep breath and turned back to the room, grinning. "What's next then?" he asked, taking the opportunity to grab another forkful of cake.

"This one," Kat said, handing him a heavy rectangular package. It was obviously another book, this one oversized.

"That would be from me," Ian said from the chair he was sitting in, eating cake.

"Thank you, Ian," Ethan smiled over at him. It was truly something when even one's teachers gave birthday gifts. And what a gift. Ethan laughed loudly once the present was unwrapped. "I'm sensing a theme here."

Ian had given him coffee-table gay erotica: a large book of art photography of pretty men supposedly having sex. Not something that Ethan would have expected as a gift from Ian, except he knew his mentor had a wicked sense of humour, and this book was called '_Male Alfresco'_. All the posed sex scenes were taking place outdoors.

"You're a wicked old crow," Ethan commented happily. He didn't dare look at Rupert to see how he was taking it.

"For some reason, it made me think of you," Ian replied with a tiny smile. "I wonder why."

"Can I see?" Kat asked, straining to get a good look at the pages that Ethan was flipping through.

"By all means," Ethan giggled, starting to hand the book over.

Rupert intercepted the volume before Kat could get her hands on it. "After I've reviewed it, perhaps," he said mildly.

Ethan winked at Kat. "Never mind, dear."

Megan placed a smaller present on his lap. When Ethan turned to her questioningly, she said, "It's from Miss Harkness."

"I thought the cake was from you, Lucy?" Ethan asked as he opened the tubular gift. It was an old-fashioned kaleidoscope. "Oh, smashing!" He exclaimed gleefully. "I haven't seen one of these for donkey years."

"Pretty patterns made from randomness," Lucy told him. "It seemed suitable."

"All you need is a mirror to create perfect symmetry." Ethan nodded. "Thank you, Lucy."

"There's just one more," Kat said, sounding a little disappointed about that as she carefully handed over the last package.

This one was a slightly odd shape and had some weight behind it. The tag on it was in Rupert's distinctive handwriting – 'So you will always see what I see.'

Ethan glanced over to Rupert, meeting his eyes questioningly. Seeing some strong emotion in his gaze, but no answers, Ethan turned back to the gift and opened it. It was a mirror set in mahogany; the carved frame was an interweaving of foxes and badgers.

Ethan realised right away that the badger must be Rupert's animal, of course it was. Oh God...

It was the most perfect thing. The gift tag now made sense. Through a window formed of their spirits, Ethan could finally see himself. "Rupert... I..."

As his fingers traced the carvings, Ethan could hear his lungs catch, strong emotions worsening his shortness of breath. With hands that were suddenly trembling, he lifted the mirror and looked into it, watching with stunned bemusement as his own eyes became suspiciously damp looking.

He heard Rupert clear his throat and was aware of the others getting up and quietly leaving, but Ethan found himself unable, or unwilling, to look away from his gift and his reflection.

Then Rupert was shifting them both, moving Ethan forward and sliding in behind him, resting his head on Ethan's shoulder so both their reflections were visible in the mirror.

"Have you any idea how completely I love you?" Ethan asked in a low and fractured voice, as he met Rupert's reflected gaze. Together, they watched a tear run slowly down Ethan's cheek.

"A rather good idea, yes." Rupert brushed the tear away with a gentle finger.

Ethan touched the image of Rupert's face in the mirror. Meaning more than he could ever verbalise with the two words, he met the grey-green eyes again and whispered, "Thank you."


	14. Chapter 14

For a long time, they stayed in each other's arms on the bed, Giles waiting for Ethan to regain some of his composure now that the rest of the birthday celebrants had gone. Torn wrapping paper was strewn around them, all but one of the presents amongst it. Ethan was still staring into the looking glass world that contained images of them both.

When Ethan finally lowered the mirror, Giles hugged him and turned him enough to drop a kiss on his lips. Ethan's immediate and passionate yielding to the kiss –arms snaking around Giles' neck, body twisting between Giles' legs– quickly proved very distracting, and Ethan's frequent breaks for breath failed to mar the passion.

It was difficult to stop, but there were things that Giles wanted to do before he could let himself become truly distracted. Still, he allowed the kiss to continue for quite a while before forcing himself to pull back. "I'm taking this to mean that you like your gifts?" he asked with a teasing smile.

"Never had a birthday like it," Ethan muttered, looking down. "You always made them good way back when, but this..." His breathing was definitely laboured, and it was hard for Giles to work out how much was emotion, how much passion, and how much was sick lungs. Ethan looked up. "Bugger it, Ripper, I've got a family suddenly. How did that happen?"

"Slayers will do that to you," Giles said, smiling as the memory of how he'd had a similar realisation about Buffy and Dawn, Willow and Xander, back in Sunnydale.

Ethan rubbed hard at his face. "And your gifts... oh, my dear. The Scalectrix would have been enough, but this mirror..." He picked it up again and looked at the back, where a larger fox and badger were gambolling together. Shaking fingers traced the badger.

Trying to keep the atmosphere light, Giles teased, "I couldn't find one with foxes and fyarls."

Ethan shot him a mildly resentful look. "Am I ever going to be forgiven for that?"

So much for lightening the mood. Giles reached for Ethan's hand. "I'm not holding a grudge, love. It's just..." He sighed and tried to explain, hearing the plaintiveness creeping into his voice, but unable to stop it. "I don't understand _why_."

"No good reason," Ethan mumbled. He tried to take his hand away.

Giles refused to let go. "Tell me a bad reason then," he persisted, not willing to let it drop now that it had been brought it up. The fyarl incident had hurt him in a way none of Ethan's other antics had managed, and although he didn't dwell on the past, he knew he wouldn't be able to totally put it behind him without understanding the reasons for it.

Ethan's look was pained and sulky. He slumped in Giles' arms. "Can't I just say I'm sorry? I am, and not just because of what happened to me as a result. I'm really sorry, Rupert."

Sighing, Giles brushed a hand against Ethan's cheek. "It was... I could feel bits of myself slipping away. I almost killed Buffy –and you. Either would have destroyed me, even if I'd regained myself."

"Revenge."

"Revenge?" Giles echoed.

Ethan nodded, his eyes shut.

Giles rolled that around in his mind. "And the night before? Was that part of the revenge too?" It didn't matter, he told himself, what the answer was. Not now. He and Ethan had moved beyond the past. But still, he found he had to ask.

Ethan's eyes remained tightly shut. "The time we spent at the bar was when I spiked your drink. The sex? No, that wasn't part of it. I wasn't expecting that at all, and I left your bed intending to reverse the spell before it kicked in."

Before Giles could question that, Ethan had opened his eyes and was talking rapidly, pausing to drag in air every few words.

"Rupert, my whole life, until now, there's never been anyone I've cared about but you. You _know_ that. When we were together, I felt like a sodding god. I could look at you and see I was a god. When you went, all I had was Chaos, and it was never enough. Whatever I did, wherever I went, the focus of my obsession remained you. So I kept coming back, to be smacked about and despised. I'd had enough, over twenty years of it, and I wanted my freedom."

He looked up at Giles. "Or so I thought. Then of course you take me drunkenly to bed, and even the slightest chance that there could be an 'us' again makes me drop all my nasty little plans."

Giles softly caressed Ethan's cheek again. "Part of us knew we belonged together, even during the worst of it. I don't know what would have happened, but I had honestly intended to see what we could negotiate the next morning." He sighed. "I guess it just wasn't the right time."

"I read your diary."

Giles blinked. "What?"

"That's why I didn't reverse the spell."

"Because you read my diary," Giles said slowly, trying to think what he had written that could have had such an effect. Ethan tried again to take his hand back, and again, Giles didn't let go. "What did I write that made you... lose hope?"

Ethan stared at Giles for several long moments. "It was the whole thing really. Once I'd read it, I knew you'd never give up the Watcher life, and that it would always come first. I saw how ashamed of your past you were, but how desperately lonely... I wouldn't have been a god this time, just a dirty little secret to be ashamed of. It made me... I couldn't..." He paused, clearly trying to master strong emotions. "Oh bugger it, Rupert. _Please_ can I stop talking now?"

Giles pulled Ethan into a tight embrace. "I love you," he said, because he wanted no doubt on that fact. "That's always been a constant, even when I wished it otherwise."

There was no reply from Ethan beyond his breath, which came in little sob-like gasps against Giles' shoulder. Giles felt Ethan's fingers curl and uncurl against his chest.

He turned Ethan's words over in his mind, the phrase 'dirty little secret' resonating. Ethan had never really spoken much about his childhood, but Giles had gleaned enough from the little he knew to understand some of the things that would always be triggers. The hurt that Ethan would have felt at reaching such a conclusion, even if it had been erroneous, would have definitely been one of those triggers.

Knowing that Ethan had acted out of deep hurt as much or more so than abject cruelty, Giles could now understand why it had happened. With that understanding came the ability to let go of it. Not that he'd been hanging onto past grievances –how could they matter in the face of what they had now?– but there had been that twinge of bewildered hurt whenever the subject came up that Giles hadn't been able to shake. Now he felt he had.

Giles nuzzled Ethan's ear. "I forgive you," he murmured, realising suddenly that the lack of understanding had also kept him from actually saying those words.

A thin, desperate noise came from Ethan then, and he turned more fully against Giles, wrapping his arms around and clinging. Giles felt a tiny surge of Ethan's magic tentatively touching him, as if looking for permission or reciprocation. Maybe both.

He let his own magic touch Ethan in turn, reaching out and entwining with Ethan's power, in a way that had already become familiar and was fast becoming necessary. Ethan's touch became more confident in response, and for a while they just sat like that, Ethan's laboured breathing easing somewhat as he calmed down.

Finally, Ethan said in quiet acceptance. "I deserved it all."

Giles shook his head in denial, his magic instinctively wrapping around Ethan in as tight an embrace as their physical one. "No."

Ethan looked up, and he was smiling. "It's okay, Rupert. Really, it is. It makes it a lot easier to know that I did. I tried to... rid myself of you, and I paid a heavy price, but I was rewarded too, afterwards. And looking at it that way, the price was a mere pittance. I'd pay considerably steeper for this, for what we have now."

There wasn't much Giles could say to that, not without having to then stammer out all kinds of clarifications. So he settled for saying, "I'm sorry for my part in that."

Ethan's smile seemed to shine. "I love you. I love what we have. I love my birthday. None of this would be possible without what came before. Believe me, I'm a pattern mage now, and I can see it. It's almost beautiful."

"Pattern or not, I still could have at least found a better time to have this conversation than on your birthday," Giles said ruefully, giving in on the big issues.

"Maybe. Or maybe it was another gift." Ethan kissed Giles with a gentle sweetness, then turned back around in his arms, chuckling softly as he collected together his treasure haul.

It was dawning on Giles that whatever upset Ethan had been feeling earlier, he truly was over it. Consequently, he pushed his own concern away and went back to concentrating on watching Ethan enjoy his birthday. "So do you like them?" Giles asked, referring to the gifts.

"I love all of them, and I'm highly amused by the preponderance of toys and porn. The mirror is my favourite though." He picked it up again, tracing the carvings. "So you're the Mr Badger to my Mr Fox. Can I assume Megan has been talking?"

"The subject came up when we were discussing gift ideas," Giles acknowledged. "Which reminds me –turning me into a fyarl was an ironic statement?"

Ethan twitched slightly. "Something about thoughtless destruction seemed appropriate at the time. Well, that and the fyarl seemed a good symbol for the demon that came between you and I. I need to have words with that girl."

"She thought you would have already talked to me about it." Giles reached out and ran a finger over the entwined animals on the mirror. "It was a rather fortuitous conversation; Megan was the one who first spotted the mirror. I doubt she would have thought to point it out to me if we hadn't been talking about foxes and badgers earlier."

"Help me put everything safely on the side?" Ethan asked. "I don't want to damage anything when we begin the wild and noisy sex we're just about to start having."

Giles chuckled as he helped move all of Ethan's gifts to one of the bedside tables. "A man with confidence," he teased.

"Well, I'm confident I can provide the 'noisy' if nothing else. My lungs are a symphony in themselves after a bit of exercise." Ethan seemed to find that fact a lot more amusing than Giles did.

"A symphony I could do without," he remarked, running a hand lightly over Ethan's chest and letting his magic flow through his fingers. It wasn't healing per se, but it did seem to provide some relief.

Ethan stilled under the touch and leant against Giles. "Kat brewed me up some mock Chartreuse as well. It seems to help."

"Good." He shifted so that he could kiss Ethan, leisurely losing himself in the action.

Ethan clearly did not want to take his time over things. Giles felt Ethan's hands moving over him, the touch just firm enough to be felt through his clothes. The caress of magic was stronger, however, calling to Giles, arousing and energising him.

Giles responded in kind with his magic, letting it mingle and blend with Ethan's as he rolled over onto his back, pulling Ethan with him until he was lying stretched out on top of Giles. Ethan squirmed about, his tongue darting in and out of Giles' mouth and his hands inside Giles' clothing. Then, unexpectedly, Ethan stopped moving.

"Have you taken up smoking again, Rupert?"

"No, of course not," he replied, wondering where the non sequitur had come from. "Why?"

Smirking a little, Ethan slowly rubbed his trapped half-erection against Giles'; at least that was what Giles thought he was doing. Ethan then wriggled around and made a beeline for Giles' trousers.

"Wha–" Giles began, laughing as Ethan groped him in an effort to get into his pockets. "Ah," he said, suddenly realising what Ethan was going for. He held still and let Ethan fish out the small box he'd had in his left front pocket. "Do you think you can handle one more gift?"

"Another present?" Ethan's eyes were gleaming, and his smile was huge. "Oh, I think I can cope." He looked down at the small box with its red ribbon. "Can I open it?"

Giles nodded, holding his breath as Ethan did so.

The red ribbon fell to the bed, and Ethan lifted the lid carefully off. Then he simply stopped moving, his gaze locked to the box's contents. "Oh..."

"I know it's rather trite and traditional," Giles said as he watched Ethan stare at the two plain gold bands the box contained. "And we've always been anything but traditional..."

Ethan looked up abruptly. His lips seemed to be trying for a very complicated expression, but there was both gentle humour and love in his voice when he said, "I do."

Giles was surprised at how much impact those two words had; after all, they were already committed in every way that mattered. This was just a formality. That didn't explain why his heart jumped and all ability to speak fled his mind with those two little words.

Ethan surged up the bed and kissed Giles deeply, sitting himself in Giles' lap. When the kiss broke, he placed the box in Giles' hand and said, "I don't know whose is whose, and I want us to put each other's on... or do you want to wait, dearheart? Should we have a ritual? Do you want a ritual? I'm sure the Coven would do us a nice... I might perhaps be babbling."

Giles laughed and kissed him, not having heard quite this level of enthusiasm from Ethan in, well, ever really. "I think we already had our ritual, back by the fallen stone," he said, reaching out and catching one of Ethan's hands with his free one and linking their fingers together. "But if you want something more public–"

"No," Ethan said, between eager little kisses. "I just want to wear your ring."

"That is the whole idea behind getting those," Giles said, letting go of Ethan's hand to pick out the ring he'd purchased for him.

Something seemed to catch Ethan's eye, and he grabbed Giles' hand, lifting it and twisting slightly, so that he could get a better look at the ring. "There's writing?"

Giles let Ethan manoeuvre his hand as necessary in order to read what he'd had engraved on the inside. "Love, magic, destiny," he murmured quietly as Ethan stilled. "I thought it summed us up rather well."

Ethan's hand tenderly cupped the side of Giles' face. "You always could take my breath away with your grand gestures, but this... I don't know why I'm not asphyxiating on the spot." He grinned and held his left hand, palm down, towards Giles. "Did you measure my finger while I slept?"

"Maybe I just made a lucky guess," Giles teased as he slid the ring onto Ethan's hand.

As Giles let go, Ethan met his eyes and said solemnly, as if it were a sacred oath, "Yours."

Giles leant in and kissed him, long and lingeringly. "Mine," he murmured against Ethan's lips. Ethan's eyes were closed, and he shuddered slightly at Giles' single word. He was panting quietly and occasionally laughing, and there was a smile of joy curving his kissing lips.

But eventually, Ethan drew back enough to take the other ring from the box, holding it between thumb and forefinger. "You've made a rod for your own back, you know," he commented.

"Have I?" Giles asked, smiling at Ethan and quite unable to stop.

"Yes," Ethan grinned back. "How will you ever manage to better this birthday next year? Hand please, my dear."

Giles held out his left hand, still smiling. "Depending on how we calculate it, it could also be our first anniversary."

"Good God, I'm a married man," Ethan giggled, but he sobered and took a deep breath before pushing the ring slowly home on Giles' finger.

Giles caught his breath, staring down at the gold band. "So am I," he murmured, surprised at just how affecting wearing one piece of jewellery could be. Looking back up, he found himself caught in Ethan's dark eyes and could picture himself falling into them and never hitting the bottom.

"Yours," he said, echoing Ethan's earlier vow.

"Oh," Ethan breathed. "Mine."

It was, Giles thought as that single word washed over him, the first time that he had been so claimed. By anyone.

***

He and his lover were facing each other, holding hands. Looking down, he could see that they stood in a pair of linked circles, which had been chalked onto the floorboards of the stage.

"Love, magic, destiny..." the other man breathed. And then was gone, much to the amazement of the audience.

Panicking slightly, he looked around the stage, and saw his lover between the curtains in the wings, beckoning him to come forward.

He dashed from the stage, the audience catcalling and throwing things, and pushed through the curtains and through the crowds of performers beyond, each of them waiting their fifteen minutes. His lover was just ahead of him, too far away to touch, but he never quite lost sight of the other man.

He found himself in a room of costumes, racks and racks of them, both serious and carnival. And as he shoved his way through them, garish masks grinned grotesquely down at him from the shelves above. His lover was getting further ahead, and he was afraid that he was going to lose him, and therefore lose his way.

Finally, he tugged the last pair of costumes aside to reveal a backstage corridor, the door with the star on it just closing. He ran to the door, opened it, and tripped inside, hoping to see his lover, but the room was empty of occupants.

He sat down at the dressing table and looked at his features in the mirror as he smeared greasepaint from the pots across his cheeks and brow. "Where are you?" he moaned. "I can't see you."

"Where I always am," he said to himself. "Pull back the curtain."

So he stood and pulled back the curtain from the changing area. There was a full-length mirror on a stand made of mahogany, and he looked into it and saw his lover, beckoning.

He stepped forward and reached out to touch the surface of the mirror; it rippled under his fingers like water. His lover was still visible on the other side, just out of reach. Pushing against the mirror, he made his way through the glass, watching first his hand, then his arm, disappear through it.

When his face passed through, his vision rippled and wavered and his hearing became muffled. He shook his head to try and clear it, and that was when he realised that he was under water.

The mirror behind him had disappeared, and there was a current pulling at him, sending him tumbling with it, giving him no chance to get his bearings or his footing.

The waters were dark and swirling, dragging him deeper. Without knowing how he knew, he was aware of a malevolent sentience in the depths, formless and endlessly in flux, a kraken perhaps, or a maelstrom creature. It was hungry for him, and he was helpless against it.

And he cried out for his lover to come save him, but the water ate his words, and he sank down further. In a desperate attempt to save himself, he took out his heart and cast it down into the ravenous depths below to appease the beast...

Smashed against rocks in river rapids, he rose to the surface, gasping for breath, before he was pulled back under. He knew with a sense of certainty that this was it; he was going to die. But at least the maelstrom beast would not have him. And he knew no fear, only sadness, because he was alone.

Then a hand was in his, pulling him upwards. He broke the surface, and directly above him was his lover, laughing and joyous. He rose up into his lover's arms, laughing also.

Bodies entwined, they fell to the shore, still laughing as they rolled together over the sand, finally coming to a rest up against a great fallen tree. He and his lover looked up; they were in a clearing in the middle of a dark forest. The trees around the perimeter were twisted and gnarled, branches groaning as they moved in the wind, wooden talons reaching out to try and grab at anything within reach. In around the trunks seeped and rolled a low-lying fog, and tendrils of smoke snaked out malevolently along the edges of the clearing.

But the spot they lay in together was bright with sunlight; the ground was covered with thick green grass, as soft as any mattress. It was a small glade that was full of light and warmth in spite of the cold blackness encroaching on it from all sides.

His lover used a twig to draw a circle around himself, and so he did the same, the circles interlinking and glowing gold. A finger of smoke reached out and touched the circles. It was instantly burnt away, acting as fuse and touch paper, carrying a conflagration of red-gold flame into the dark forest.

It burnt away like broken film in a projector.

Deep in the calm heart of a storm, a fox and a badger stood on a cliff-top together, looking down at the angry ocean below.

***

Giles opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling, waiting the few seconds it took for memory to catch up.

Even before it did, he was aware of who was lying next to him, pressed up against his side. As the events of the past day filtered back into his brain, Giles rolled over to look at Ethan.

Ethan's eyes were open, and he was wheezing slightly. "Hello dearheart," he smiled. He coughed a little and reached under his pillow, his hand emerging with what Giles knew was Kat's herbal concoction. "Have you been dreaming too?"

Images flitted through Giles' mind. "My subconscious was hitting the symbolism a bit hard," he remarked.

"Mine too," Ethan agreed a little hoarsely. He sat up sufficiently to gulp down several mouthfuls of the potions, shaking his head and grinning as if it were particularly strong whisky. He replaced the flask under his pillow, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded a lot smoother; the wheezing seemed to have gone. "I blame Lucy's cake. It was probably full of psychoactive herbs. Seriously, my dear, I wouldn't put it past her if she thought it was for 'our own good'."

"Perhaps," Giles replied as he pulled Ethan over to lie on top of him. "But she fed it to the girls as well."

"Good point," Ethan acknowledged. He wiggled a little to get comfortable. "Well, we did have a very intense day. Lots of dream fodder." He kissed Giles softly. "So what dream windmills did you tilt at?"

Giles quirked his mouth up into a half-smile, relishing the squirming his lover was doing. "Tilted at? The actual tilting would have been at a forest."

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "This forest... it wouldn't have had a more than passing resemblance to Mirkwood, would it?"

"That would be an apt description," Giles replied slowly.

Ethan blinked at him. "Interesting," he said slowly. "Anything else happen in yours? Stuff with mirrors, for instance?"

"Practically a re-enactment of through the looking glass."

Taking a deep breath, Ethan held it before releasing it in a thoughtful sigh. "Rupert, have we been walking in each other's dreams?"

Giles traced Ethan's features as he thought about that, about how close they'd grown since really sharing magic, and how that would continue. "It's possible," he finally said. "Dreams and magic can be closely linked, and we know we've been walking in each other's magic."

Ethan slowly swayed his hips from side to side, rubbing himself against Giles in a way that seemed sexual, obviously, but as much about affection as anything else. "I like it," he announced quietly. "And I like _this_." He held up his hand with the ring upon it.

"So do I," Giles said, holding his left hand up to intertwine with Ethan's, their matched rings glinting in the moonlight through the window. "I like it quite a lot."

"Husband," Ethan mused, apparently trying out the word. "Is that what we are? Man and husband?" He giggled.

"Unless you want to be the wife?" Giles teased with a smile.

Ethan's eyebrow lifted. "Now, Rupert, do you _really_ want to introduce me to people as your wife?"

Giles' mouth twitched as he tried to hold in laughter. "Can you imagine Francesca's reaction if I did?"

"Hmm." Ethan gave the impression of seriously considering it. "I could buy a nice crimpoline frock and grow my hair long enough for curlers, and we could throw dinner parties so that I could have nervous breakdowns about the asparagus."

"I was rather fancying putting you in that Morticia dress actually."

Ethan's smirk was good humoured. "Careful what you wish for, my dear. It might come and bite you on the arse." He paused, as if his own words had given him an idea, and then began to wriggle down Giles' body, taking the sheets with him.

"Going somewhere?" Giles asked, watching Ethan, amused.

"Nowhere that need concern you. You just lay back and get some sleep." Having squirmed down far enough to do so, Ethan slid to one side and pushed at Giles' hips, moving him sufficiently to get his teeth against a buttock and start to nibble.

"So that's what you meant by careful what I wish for," Giles said, in between chuckles.

"Did you wish for this?" Ethan asked and pushed harder at Giles' hip, trying to get him to turn over.

Giles complied, settling himself on his stomach and wrapping his arms around his pillow, turning his head to one side. "I wished for you," he replied. "And since you're currently biting me on the arse, it seems your warning was apt."

Ethan chuckled and parted Giles' legs, moving to lie between them. "Your arse is very biteable," he insisted and demonstrated by doing so again.

"I'm starting to think you didn't get enough dinner." Giles glanced back over his shoulder, meeting Ethan's eyes, his cock hardening at the lust he saw there.

"You'd prefer something other than teeth perhaps." Ethan licked long, all the way up one buttock to the small of Giles' back.

A shiver went up Giles' spine at that touch. "Well, that's not bad," he offered.

Ethan planted a trail of soft kisses down the other cheek. Then he moved his hands over both buttocks, cupping and squeezing, separating them gently. "Say please," he purred.

Giles groaned and buried his head in the pillows. "Please," he said obediently.


	15. Chapter 15

Ethan slumped in the pillows, his mind unpleasantly fogged by what, if he didn't known better, he would believe to be home-made laudanum. Jonah the healer and Kat quietly moved about the room; Ethan wasn't sure what they were up to. The mask over his mouth and nose, while it obviously obscured neither his vision nor his hearing, somehow gave him a sense of being apart from the bedroom's other occupants.

Well, most of the occupants anyway; Rupert sat in the nearby armchair, going over some files that Pamela had sent down from London. Every few minutes, he'd look up at Ethan, and although he didn't say anything, the connection between them was comfortingly palpable.

It was what allowed Ethan to know he was really here in this sick-room.

He had an ongoing conundrum with the herbal drugs they kept feeding him. The Chaos withdrawal was entering the final stages; the last and most entrenched spiritual toxins were all that remained. His lungs were awful, every bit as bad as the chronic pneumonia that had resulted from the Initiative treatment, and this time he had added pleurisy. He was as weak as a newborn and almost as useless.

The drugs eased his breathing and distanced his pain, and Ethan couldn't fault them this. But he hated the way that they made everything so vague and hazy. From his own thoughts, to his sense of time, and indeed, all his perceptions, everything seemed removed from him, seen through a glass darkly. He was more grateful than he could possibly say for the anchor of Rupert's presence.

Kat sat on the bed next to him, more of the blasted laudanum stuff in her hand, and Ethan shook his head. She frowned, but put the cup down on the bedside table. "You can take it when you feel you need it," she said, watching him with worried eyes.

He intended to try to do without it for as long as he could. He wanted an attention span greater than a goldfish's for a little while. And anyway... wasn't there something he had to do? He attempted to smile at Kat encouragingly through the mask.

That got him a smile in return, even if it was a little wobbly around the edges, and a quick kiss to his cheek just above the mask's strap. "Jonah says that you should turn the corner soon," she told him, trying to encourage him in turn. "Just a few more days."

Talking through the mask seemed too much effort, so instead he raised trembling fingers to touch her face, while keeping what he hoped was solid eye contact. Ethan really appreciated the care he was being shown, especially by Kat, who was turning out to have a strong aptitude for the healing arts. But really, he wished everyone bar Rupert would go now.

"You should get some rest," Jonah told him, coming over to join Kat and clasp her shoulder.

It seemed to have been some kind of prearranged signal because Kat immediately stood up. "I'll come back later," she said. "We can watch porny videos, if you're up to it."

Knowing he could get away with it because he was sick, and therefore had to be humoured, Ethan sniggered behind the mask and made an effort to speak. "I doubt even my birthday... porn could get much of an 'up' from me... currently... so this is probably the safest time for... us to watch it together... It's a date, sweetheart." He hated how his voice sounded slurred to his own ears, and how the breathlessness staggered his sentences.

Kat smiled at him and squeezed his hand before leaving with Jonah.

Ethan glanced over at Rupert to see how much attention he was paying.

"Need something, love?" Rupert asked, his eyes seemingly focused on the papers he was reading.

Ethan sighed softly. The pair of them were just too linked now for him to even consider doing what he was about to do without Rupert knowing. He might as well be honest then. "I intend... a spot of magic."

He instantly had Rupert's complete attention. Rupert opened his mouth, then closed it with a frown. "What kind of magic?" he finally asked.

Ethan stared at the other man with eyes that annoyingly wouldn't stay focused. He reached up and slid the mask from his face. "I need... clarity."

Rupert put the files aside and came over to sit on the bed beside him. "There's nothing I can say to change your mind, I suppose," he said, reaching for Ethan's hand.

As their fingers intertwined, Ethan smiled softly, then frowned as he tried to explain. "There's something... nagging at me, Rupert. I can feel it... in the back... the back of my mind. Something I have to know... or do. But I can't bloody well focus, not with this herbal... heroin inside me."

After a long searching look, Rupert sighed and asked, "What can I do to help?"

Ethan considered a self-sacrificing response –that he was fine, that Rupert should get on with his work– but he would never be that unselfish. "Your magic blocks a lot of the pain..."

Without another word, Rupert let his magic slide up over Ethan's form through their entwined fingers. Ethan closed his eyes.

After briefly allowing himself to enjoy the pleasure of Rupert's magic, Ethan began to call on his own. He opened up his fogged magic senses and put all the concentration he had available into seeing the patterns of his own body. In particular, he studied the array of the herbal narcotics affecting him...

With a feeling of now or never, Ethan twisted.

Befuddled as he was, his touch was clumsy, and he felt his body jolt and shudder as he bullied the pattern into a new shape. It wasn't the rape of dark Chaos, but it utterly lacked the finesse of the magic Ian had been tutoring him in.

Pain filled Ethan as the effect of the drugs abruptly left his system. He groaned and slumped back.

Rupert wrapped his arms around him, and the magic flowing into Ethan increased. "Ethan–" Rupert began, worry and censure in his voice, but cut himself off. "This is what you needed?" he finally asked in a softer tone.

"It's a start," Ethan croaked, wincing. "I'm sorry to put you through this, dearheart..."

"Put me..." Rupert's embrace tightened and the magic flowing from him shifted somehow, seeming to seek out the places that were the most raw and aching, soothing over them; the pain Ethan felt immediately decreased dramatically. "You're not putting me through anything," Rupert finished, nuzzling Ethan's cheek in a brief, gentle caress.

"That was... Have you been practising?" Ethan asked, his sense of relief considerable.

"Maybe a little," Rupert admitted, sounding pleased with himself. "It's helping?"

"Yes. A great deal." Ethan smiled broadly, snuggling close. "Now perhaps I can hear the voice nagging at the edge of my consciousness."

Eyes closed again, Ethan reached deep within himself once more. It was so much easier with both the drugs and a lot of the pain gone from his body. He didn't try to pinpoint whatever it was that was clamouring for attention; he simply relaxed within Rupert's arms and let any thoughts that wanted to emerge to do so.

"Oh..." he breathed as the tickling thought became a fully-fledged awareness. "Rupert, what's the weather like out?"

"There's been a storm building most of the day," Rupert told him. "Should break soon."

"It's going to be huge," Ethan replied, feeling a thrill of excitement. He turned and affixed Rupert with an avid gaze. "Take me out in it."

Rupert frowned, and for a moment, Ethan was sure he was going to refuse. Instead the other man simply asked, "Why?"

Which forced Ethan to actually think about why he might be feeling so compelled to be outside when the storm hit. "I'm not sure exactly. It just feels... I can see myself out there... No, not me – _us_. Standing on the cliff-tops. Oh! Rupert, like the end of our sodding dream." He giggled a little then moved. And as Rupert's hands slipped from around him, Ethan grabbed them, holding onto them as tightly as his weakened state would allow. "Take me to the cliffs, dearheart. Please. I... I need this."

For a long moment, Rupert just looked at him, searching his eyes. Finally, he nodded. "All right."

Ethan kissed him. "I know the temptation to consider me prematurely senile must be strong, so... thank you." He turned and wriggled to the edge of the bed. As he sat on the edge, no longer touching Rupert, Ethan almost changed his mind. His head spun, and the ease that Rupert's magic brought him almost instantly began to disappear. Looking down at the pyjamas he was wearing, Ethan groaned a little. "I, um... I need some more practical clothing."

Rupert was already getting up and moving to the bureau where their clothes were stored. "You need warmer clothing," he said as he got out trousers, a T-shirt, boxers, and a thick woollen sweater, bringing the whole lot back over to the bed.

Ethan began to fumble at the pyjama top. The invalid wear had been bought for him by their two Slayers, and so he was wearing it like the good pseudo-father he was. It was covered in a design of cartoon foxes, and Ethan had wondered a little glumly just how many more vulpine-themed gifts he could expect to receive from now on.

The glumness hadn't lasted for long, however. A gift was a gift, and even if he looked a complete pillock, the pyjamas kept him warm and meant he was cared about.

"Perhaps I should leave this on," he panted, after failing to get the top over his head.

"Or perhaps you should let me help you," Rupert countered, reaching out to pull the shirt off then assisting him in putting the T-shirt and sweater on.

Each time Rupert's fingers brushed against Ethan's skin, there was another little burst of magic, Rupert taking advantage of even the briefest of contacts to reinforce the energy that was hovering between Ethan and the pain.

"That's nice," Ethan understated. "You can keep doing that." He let himself be laid gently back on the bed, so that Rupert could change his trousers. Ethan put his hands behind his head and grinned up and across, as Rupert pulled the boxers into place. "You know, being a cripple isn't all that bad."

Rupert glanced up at him. "Perhaps you're getting a bit too much magic," he said mildly, although he didn't lessen the flow at all.

Ethan did up his own belt then sat again. "Thank you," he said sincerely, meeting Rupert's gaze. He then took the flask of the less narcotic herbal gunk and slipped it in his back pocket, just in case. He could feel the building storm even more clearly now, and there was a sense of urgency also growing inside him. Ethan needed to be in the thick of things when it came.

Rupert put an arm around Ethan's waist, helping him to his feet. Ethan thought about what lay ahead and frowned. "The stairs are going to be a mite tricky."

"Only if you squirm," Rupert replied, lifting Ethan up into his arms like he had back in the early days of Ethan's recovery from his Initiative incarceration.

"Bugger..." Ethan did squirm, just a little, as he hadn't been expecting that. He might have lost a little weight with this spot of illness, but he was nothing like the skeleton with skin he'd been after the Initiative had done with him. "Rupert, put me down. You'll do your back in."

"Then we can be invalids together." Rupert started out of the room, heading for the stairs.

Ethan dipped his head and curled his legs in, trying to take up as little space as possible. Closing his eyes, he found the motion as they went down the steps did indeed bring back strong memories of the days after his rescue. "Was I more or less of a trial to you back then, my dear?" he asked, confident that Rupert would understand what he was referring to.

Rupert didn't answer right away, seeming to think over the question seriously. "Things back then were much more... uncertain," he finally said. "I wasn't sure what to expect, or to hope for, realistically."

Ethan opened his eyes to see they were approaching the front door. Rupert held him by the coat-stand, and Ethan liberated their matching Berber coats. They were going to need them. "But I didn't make you carry me out to cliff-tops to take in the bracing air, did I?"

"I didn't know if you wanted to be there, or if the only reason you hadn't left was because you weren't able to," Rupert said softly. Then, as they slipped outside, he added in a teasing tone, "Besides, I'm used to you asking for outrageous things."

Ethan grinned at the last comment. "That's what makes me fun to have around," he claimed, chuckling. The wind was already blustery outside, picking up the first of the autumn's fallen leaves and setting them dancing.

"Looks like it's going to be a bad one," Rupert observed as he headed for their car, only putting Ethan down when he needed to open the passenger door.

Ethan leant against the car and breathed in the outdoor air, which was rich with ozone and building power. For all his sickness, he felt alive and excited. When Rupert, after helping Ethan into the passenger seat, shut the door on the growing storm, Ethan felt disappointed.

Rupert got in behind the wheel and slid the key into the ignition. He glanced over at Ethan. "Are you all right?"

Ethan nodded. He rested his hand on Rupert's leg, greedily seeking more magic. "A little impatient, is all." To distract himself, Ethan returned to what they had just been discussing. "You should have known I'd stay, really."

"Maybe so," Rupert said softly, as he turned the car down the driveway. "But we were both so hunkered down behind our emotional defences, it's a wonder we could even see each other."

"You..." Ethan paused to consider his words carefully. "You took a leap of faith."

Rupert mulled that over. "I think we both did," he finally said.

"Maybe," Ethan acknowledged, relaxing back into the seat.

They sat quietly as Rupert drove through Combe Martin and out the other side. The sky was dark enough for evening now, although it was only early afternoon. Rupert took them along single-track roads, clearly heading somewhere specific. Ethan didn't ask where; he trusted Rupert.

Finally, just after passing a National Trust sign, Rupert pulled the car into a small dirt carpark. It was at that point that large interspersed drops of rain started landing on the windscreen.

Parking the car, Rupert turned off the engine and glanced over at Ethan. "Cliff-top, you said."

"Yes, I need to meet and greet," Ethan confirmed. "Play the gracious host."

"Yes, we must show proper etiquette to the weather," Rupert said sardonically, getting out of the car. He came around to open the door for Ethan. "Can you walk?" he asked, as he helped the other man get out.

"With help." Ethan swayed a little as the burgeoning force of the elements hit him. "I can use magic to temporarily strengthen my muscles. There's certainly enough power about us that I can draw on."

He thought, rather giddily, that he could probably fly if he twisted the air currents just right. On the other hand, with the amount of natural chaos about right now, that would probably be asking for a quick trip out to sea. He chuckled to himself, and the wind caught his quiet laugh and whisked it away.

The rising force of the storm surged around them, the wind slapping their faces with the heavy raindrops. They donned their coats, doing up all the many fastenings, and sealing themselves inside the fleece-lined waxed material. Ethan fiddled with the last of his buttons, his fingers too clumsy currently to manage well.

Rupert did the buttons up for him and paused when he was finished, looking closely at Ethan's eyes. Smiling, he leant in and kissed Ethan lingeringly. When Rupert drew back, Ethan tried to follow his lips. Rupert chuckled and gave him a small peck, before saying, "I thought you wanted to meet and greet the storm."

Nodding, Ethan let the wind charge him up and fed the power to his sick muscles. This wasn't healing, and it wasn't masking. It was more like a magical set of limb-braces to help him get where he was going.

Rupert kept a supporting arm around Ethan's waist as they slowly made their way up the trail towards the cliff's edge. It was hard going for Ethan, even with magical aid. As they reached the ridge, leaving the protection of the hillside, the wind seemed to become much stronger, and Ethan's lungs threatened to give out all together. He turned, seeking temporary shelter against Rupert's chest.

Wrapping his arms around him, Rupert sent more of his magic through Ethan's system. "You're all right," he murmured, as if to reassure both of them.

Ethan moved his mouth up to Rupert's and stole a kiss, and quite possibly, some warm air too. Then he turned to face the storm and walked confidently, more or less, out to within a couple of feet of the cliff edge.

Rupert followed a step behind him, and when Ethan stopped, Rupert wrapped his arms around Ethan's waist, pulling him back against his chest. As Ethan had been feeling just a little bit precarious, the solidity of Rupert behind him was very reassuring. Any conversation would be immediately lost to the clutching fingers of the wind up here so Ethan squeezed Rupert's hands to show his appreciation.

Then he turned all his senses outwards, spreading his arms, and inviting the storm to... well, communicate in a fashion, to make itself known to him. As his awareness spread outward, Ethan saw the moving patterns of the tempest. They were huge and in constant flux, the movement of every atom dependent on that of every other atom, all racing together in a furious dance.

And suddenly Ethan was seven years old again and standing on a beach being held, loved, by another storm a long time ago. And then, equally suddenly, he knew why he was here, on this present day cliff, and what he had to do. He slumped back against Rupert, his rock of support, and let Rupert bear much of his physical weight.

Ethan extended his magic, all of it, making himself huge and diffuse, mingling with the over-excited air around him, the angry waves below, and the thick boiling clouds far above.

Once his power was so mingled that it had become the stuff of the storm, become part of the vast pattern, Ethan stiffened. He had to let Rupert know somehow what to expect, but he didn't have the time to explain. In the end, he found himself yelling, "Be prepared!" only afterwards realising that he hadn't spoken the words with his mouth. But he knew, without a doubt, that Rupert had heard him.

And then the time for thought and communication was gone as Ethan summoned all his extended magic home. It came rushing back at the speed of thought... and it brought the storm with it.

For a few short moments, there was perfect calm on the cliff-top. Their coats, which had been flapping madly in the bluster, hung still. The rain no longer fell. Down below, the sea was unnaturally peaceful under the still darkened skies.

Then Ethan began to shudder.

It was like trying to hold his breath for an unnatural length of time, while simultaneously resisting the impulse to sneeze, vomit and otherwise eliminate from his body. Ethan kept the insane amount of power inside of him for as long as he could hold it, shaking and whimpering, and let go only when some instinct told him it was enough.

The storm wailed out from him with a banshee howl and enough force to knock both men back into the sodden grass, and it took every last stubborn clot of dark Chaos with it when it went.

Triumphant and satisfied, Ethan laughed loudly. And then passed out.

***

Giles felt like his heart had stopped when Ethan went limp. For a second, he wasn't sure if Ethan had just passed out or... Giles didn't even let himself finish the thought, didn't need to as in the next instant he felt Ethan's pulse strong and steady under his fingers.

He shifted them around, running his hands over Ethan's body checking for damage, reaching out with his magic to do the same thing...

Except that when he touched Ethan's power with his own, it was different. _Ethan _was different. The slightly bitter under-taste –the dark Chaos that had always been a part of Ethan for as long as Giles had known him– was no longer there at all. Even while Ethan had been weaning himself from it, it had still been there at the most basic levels, masking and tainting Ethan's essence.

Until now.

Ethan twitched. His head fell back and his mouth opened and moved, and although Giles couldn't make out any words through the roar of the wind, he knew Ethan had spoken. Giles shifted their positions again, trying to shelter Ethan from the gale as much as he could. "What was that, love?" he asked, unable to resist leaning in and kissing him, savouring the new sweetness.

Ethan kissed back, weakly at first, but then with more strength, his hand slipping around Giles' neck to lightly hold him. Giles smiled against Ethan's mouth as the kiss continued. Kissing Ethan was always an enjoyable pastime, but now, with the untainted power running just below the surface, it was downright addictive.

Finally, Ethan broke the kiss, panting for breath and grinning up at Giles. He pushed his fingers through Giles' soaking wet hair, laughing when the action caused much of the water to fall onto his own face.

"You taste... feel... God, Ethan..." Giles heard the wonder in his own voice.

"It's gone," Ethan said, still grinning, and somehow they were hearing each other perfectly well now, despite the gale, the crashing waves below them, and the thunderous rain splashing into the increasingly muddy grass they were lying on. "It's all gone. I should feel a little sad maybe, but I really don't."

"No more bitter," Giles murmured, his magic instinctively reaching out to caress and intertwine with Ethan's. "Pure essence of you. Nothing to be sad about there."

"I can get better now. Perhaps the Coven might even deign to heal me, you never know." Ethan chuckled, writhing happily as their magics intermeshed. "Talking of which..." He tried to arch up and reach under himself for something, but Giles above him, and his own coat, seemed to be making that difficult.

"What are you after?" Giles asked, even as he rolled them over to facilitate... whatever it was that Ethan was trying to do.

"Kat's flask," Ethan explained, pulling up his coat to reach it.

"Let me." Giles slid his hands over Ethan's body as he moved to retrieve the item in question from Ethan's pocket.

As the action necessitated groping Ethan's arse, he giggled and wriggled on top of Giles, clearly in excessively good humour. "Do you still know that spell you used to use for our laundry?" he asked, rising shakily up onto his knees, straddling Giles, so that he could swig from the flask.

Giles continued to run his hands over Ethan's form, unable to stop touching him. "Yes," he replied. "Have something in mind, do you?"

Ethan nodded, clearly still able to hear Giles, even from this distance. Dropping the flask to the ground beside them, he pushed his soaking hair back from his face and then held his arms out. His face showed an expression of concentration and perhaps a little strain.

Once again, the storm... stopped.

Only it didn't, of course. Just a foot or so away from Giles head, he could still see the heavy rain splashing into puddles. But somehow, around them both was a still oasis. The roar of wind and waves, the buffeting of the gale, and the drenching rain were all gone.

Ethan bought his hands down and rested them on Giles' chest, leaning on them slightly. He was panting again, but grinning hugely.

Giles chuckled. "Better than a sodding umbrella." Sliding his hands slowly up Ethan's arms he murmured, "_Exhala aquam viduum_," and directed a bit of his magic, removing the excess moisture from their hair and clothes as well as the ground around them.

Ethan shivered as if Giles had touched him sexually. "I don't know why, but your magic tastes even better now, my dear, and it was always somewhat of a godly elixir." He paused to catch his breath then added, "These clothes may be wonderfully dry, but they're decidedly in the way." He tugged rather uselessly at Giles' Berber. "I want to touch you."

"That's convenient," Giles said, quickly undoing the buttons and zip on his coat and sliding it off, then reaching for the buttons on Ethan's. "Because I want you to touch me. And vice versa."

As Giles pushed Ethan's coat down his arms, Ethan dropped forward, almost falling out of the coat, and sprawled on top of Giles. Warm hands cupped Giles' face. "Mmm, touch me then," Ethan murmured, kissing Giles softly, his magic travelling from lips, tongue and fingers.

Giles slid his hands into Ethan's hair, holding him in place and deepening the kiss. His own magic flowed out of him as easily as breathing, meeting and mingling with Ethan's as if it had always been meant to be that way.

It was different than all the times in the past they'd done this; always before there had been something sharp and jagged about Ethan's magic, something that had resisted and fought Giles' for dominance, something that had kept them aware of the edges no matter how close they got. There was none of that this time: no fight, no edges. Their magic, their power, met and simply blended together, smoothly becoming a new whole as if it always had been.

He felt Ethan tremble and moan above him. Their lips were dragged apart just long enough for Ethan to groan, "God, you're making me whole. Rupert... you're _healing_. Look."

One of Ethan's hands grabbed his, and suddenly, Giles found he was seeing rather as he imagined Ethan saw. He saw what he somehow knew were the patterns of the damaged flesh in Ethan's lungs, and how their melded magic was starting to restore the flesh to the shape it should hold.

Fascinated, he watched the shifting pattern, feeling the way the magic wanted to go, seeing the way the pattern should be without the damage, and how it grew from a shadowy possibility to a solid reality. He was distantly aware of Ethan's breathing easing as they continued.

"Bugger..." Ethan moaned, moving on top of Giles. "Oh..." Suddenly, he sat up and pulled off his jumper, leaving the T-shirt behind. He pushed Giles' sweater up too until the material bunched under his arms.

Giles had lost the image of the healing when Ethan let go of his hand, but he could still feel the magic moving through them both, unable to tell which was his and which was Ethan's. It was as much sexual as anything else, and Giles was becoming increasing desperate to feel Ethan's skin against his, to bury himself in Ethan's body, to make their connection physical as well as spiritual. Groaning, Giles thrust up against Ethan's body, his hands moving to scrabble at Ethan's belt. "Need to feel you..."

"Yes. Oh, yes..." Ethan clearly fully agreed with the sentiment as his hands were under Giles' shirt now, pushing up his chest and dragging down again in a firm, demanding caress. "Rupert, please..."

Giles retained enough rational thought to realise he couldn't just magic their clothes away, not out here, although his urgent and growing desire made his fingers clumsy as he tried to open Ethan's trousers. "Need this off," he growled finally, tugging at the material.

Groaning with frustration, Ethan moved off Giles and lay on his back, quickly removing his own trousers. "Dearheart, _please_." There was urgency in his voice as he reached for Giles. "Touch me. Oh God, take me..."

Having removed his own trousers while Ethan was similarly engaged, Giles was more than willing to comply, letting Ethan pull him close. He groaned at the first skin to skin contact, and took control, shifting their positions so that he could slide into Ethan's body on a stream of magic.

Ethan clenched around him immediately, gasping. His legs tightened on Giles' back as he thrust his arse up to meet Giles' downward movement. Their melded magic surrounded them, keeping them warm within Ethan's bubble of stillness, keeping them highly aroused. Ethan reached up for a kiss, his mouth open and needy.

Giles closed the remaining distance and devoured his mouth, getting lost in it all, the physical and magical both. There were no words to describe it, this kind of closeness, unity, and Giles never wanted it to end.

Such was the intensity of the euphoria they shared that neither was capable of much in the way of rhythmic movement. But it mattered not at all, as the pleasure grew inexorably on all levels, blinding them completely to anything beyond each other. They could have had an audience of curious Tri-horned yogra-beasts, and they would never have known.

When finally, their physical orgasms arrived, utterly synchronous, they hardly noticed them against the backdrop of crescendoing ecstasy throughout their minds and spirits.

It was something that was impossible to maintain at those levels, however, and gradually the flow of magic between and around them tapered off, leaving them both back inside their own skins. But again, it was unlike times in the past; even when it was over, there remained an awareness of each other which went beyond their normal senses.

As their minds slowly became capable of intellectual thought once more, Ethan shifted below Giles, letting his feet drop to the grass. Neither of them seemed to want to talk immediately, being content to lie there, kissing softly and nuzzling, but eventually, Giles felt as much as saw Ethan wince.

"Sorry," Giles murmured as they disengaged as gently as he could manage, rolling onto his back and pulling Ethan to lie against his side.

"No, my dear, it's not you," Ethan reassured quickly, snuggling close again. "Well, not in any way I mind, anyhow. The storm's passing, that's all." Giles didn't quite get the significance of the remark until Ethan added, "I was using its wildness to maintain the, um, magic umbrella. Self-maintaining magic is the best kind, don't you think? Only this is quite a costly spell now the nexus of the storm has passed inland."

"We should probably get dressed and head back to the car then." Giles reluctantly let go of Ethan and reached for his trousers. "After all, we've just got you healed; don't want you to get ill again."

"And there are your aged and decrepit joints to consider as well," Ethan said, remaining deadpan for a fraction of a second before disintegrating into giggles. "Oh, Rupert," he sighed happily, lying on his back with his hands behind his head and making no move to dress himself. "It really seems a bit redundant to say this after what we've just shared, but I do love you. So very much."

Giles stopped dressing long enough to lean over and kiss Ethan. "I love you too." There was so much more he could say, but if he started he was pretty sure they would never get out of here.

As Giles finished getting himself together, he could feel Ethan's gaze upon him. Turning to look at the other man again, Giles frowned at Ethan's still half-naked and dishevelled state. Ethan raised a sardonic eyebrow. "What, you mean just because I'm well now, I have to dress myself again?"

"Yes," Giles said, tossing Ethan's trousers to him.

"Aww, that's a shame." Ethan pouted. "A bloke could get used to having a personal valet." Nevertheless, he obligingly got himself dressed. He turned to Giles as he fastened the buttons on his Berber, his fingers now agile once again. "Shall we get to the car while I can still maintain the umbrella? The storm may be gone, but the rain still looks cold enough to dampen our good spirits."

"I'm not sure anything could dampen my good spirits right now." Giles caught Ethan's hand as they started walking. "But yes, not getting wet would be a benefit, if it's not too much of a strain for you."

"There's time enough to collapse when we get in." A sudden thought seemed to hit Ethan. "Oh, I do hope we haven't worried our Slayers."

"We haven't been gone that long. Besides, I think they will forgive us when they see you."

"Yes, and our busy-body mentors probably watched the whole thing in Technicolor and Dolby surround sound, anyway."

Giles winced. "I'm trying very hard not to think about that."

"Sorry," Ethan said, not sounding it at all. He'd always been a natural exhibitionist and clearly the thought of an audience at the very least amused him.

They reached the car and got in, and Ethan let his spell go with a grateful sigh. "I have at least managed to see Ian naked in return," he commented casually.

"I think I'll stick with trying not to think about it," Giles said dryly, as he started the engine.

Ethan reached over and stroked Giles' face with the back of his hand. "I suppose there's no way I'm ever going to be able to make you jealous again now, is there?" he asked in a mildly teasing tone. "Couldn't you just pretend one day? Take a swing at someone for me, just like the old days?"

"You want me to thrash Ian for you?" Giles asked in amused disbelief, as they left the carpark.

"Oh no." Ethan threw his hands up, laughing. "Someone that we don't like. I tell you what, when we get back, I'll flirt outrageously with Francesca."

Giles laughed out loud at the mental picture that inspired. "Her head would spin around before exploding."

"What a very pleasant thought," Ethan said gleefully. He took in a deep breath and let it out again slowly. "Oh, I didn't know days came this good. Really, I didn't." He reached over and squeezed Rupert's leg. "You did this to me, you truly wicked man."

"You freed yourself first," Giles told him, dropping a hand down to cover Ethan's. He glanced sideways at him. "I just was damage control."

"I'm not just talking about being whole physically again, Rupert," Ethan said, smiling softly. "Glorious though that is. You've made me whole in ways I didn't even realise it was possible to be complete in." He turned his hand under Giles' and interlinked their fingers. "I was nothing but broken circles, and now, together, we're perfect twinning spirals. Like DNA." He laughed. "As above, so below. Oh dear God, I believe I may be having a spiritual moment. Call the priests!"

"It's like in the dream," Giles said, remembering the repeated imagery of intertwining circles around him and Ethan. "Two wholes that link together."

"Forming the symbol for infinity," Ethan added quietly, suddenly a little subdued. "That dream was important, wasn't it?"

"It's beginning to appear so, yes." Giles turned it over in his mind. He had some training in interpreting dreams as prophetic dreams were one of the Slayer's traditional gifts, but still, obtaining some more skilled opinions might be an idea to consider. "The Coven has a seer," he began tentatively, unsure of Ethan's reaction to this suggestion. "We could see what she has to say about it."

"It might well be best to know," Ethan agreed easily enough, but his tone was worried. Giles strongly suspected he was reviewing some of the darker aspects of the dream.

Giles raised their clasped hands to his mouth, brushing a kiss against the back of Ethan's. "Although I must say – us for infinity? I can wholeheartedly embrace that portent."

"Here's to the Infinite Us," Ethan toasted, chuckling. The more sombre mood was already over as was his lover's mercurial way, Giles thought fondly.

Ethan and him, together from now on. It was perhaps, given their history, the most unlikely outcome. But for Giles, for them both, it was, quite literally it seemed, a dream come true.


	16. epilogue

"Fifteen, my well-toned arse!" Ethan exclaimed, outraged at the claim coming from the boy on the television screen.

"He could be," Kat said defensively from where she and Megan were sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Giles reluctantly turned his head on Ethan's lap to look blearily at the screen. Last night's equinox celebration with the full Devon coven down in Westbury had left him feeling rather, well, fragile. He'd been hoping to catch a little sleep on the sofa while the other three watched Ethan's birthday 'porn' on this, their last day in Devon before returning to London tomorrow.

Megan, ever the voice of reason, pointed out, "I doubt they'd be allowed to use a real fifteen year-old in this role."

On the screen, a man with dark, tightly curled hair and a way of moving that reminded Giles strongly of a young Ethan, was just entering a loft flat with a younger, obviously nervous blond. "Looks fairly young to me."

Ethan's hand moved slightly on Giles' hip. "Young yes, fifteen no. He's about six-foot tall! Also, a boy who looked like that wouldn't have to slum it with that slimy bloke."

As Giles watched, the 'slimy bloke' as Ethan had dubbed him went to the fridge and took out a bottle of water, which he promptly poured over himself, shaking his head and sending water droplets everywhere. "Oh, I don't know," Giles said mildly. "He seems to have a certain style."

"He's such a poser... oh, pretty though." Giles could hear the smirk in Ethan's voice as the man on the screen took his shirt off, revealing a slender but toned body.

"You said it!" Kat piped up, leaning forward and staring avidly at the screen.

"Try not to drool on the carpet," Giles told the both of them drily.

"They're kissing!" Kat squeaked. Giles felt more than heard Ethan's quiet chuckle at the girl's reaction.

Megan shot the other girl a look. "What did you expect them to do? Play charades?"

"But, but... it's so _hot_!"

"She doesn't say that when _we_ kiss," Ethan remarked drily to Giles.

"Yes, I so do!" Kat defended herself, her tone then changing to one of disappointment as the scene shifted. "Oh, they stopped."

"All right, now _he_ can do better," Giles opined, watching the two characters who were now on the screen. "Actually," he added, looking up at Ethan, "that big bruiser looks an awful lot like the pillock who you had thrashing you when we first met."

"Considerably less hair, but yes," Ethan agreed. Then, apparently in response to a questioning look from Kat, he added in an amused tone, "Ripper rescued me from an unpleasant situation. He broke the git's arm for me, which was very obliging of him, I must say. It was love at first sight, of course."

Before Giles could comment on that inaccurate summary, Kat asked, "Why _do_ you call Giles 'Ripper' sometimes?"

Memories of the incident that had led to Ethan bestowing the nickname upon him flashed through Giles' mind; he winced at the thought of sharing that particular story. "I don't know if you're old enough for us to answer that," he told them. As an afterthought, he added, "And I didn't break the git's arm for Ethan, I broke the git's wrist because he was coming at me with a knife."

"I like my version of the story better," Ethan said, and Giles could tell he was pouting good-humouredly. Then Ethan straightened up in the seat rather abruptly. "Oh, look. Porn. Now this is more like it."

Silence fell in the room as Ethan and the two girls seemed captivated by the two naked men onscreen and the conversation they were having while... keeping their hands busy.

Until Megan turned around and asked, "So what _is_ rimming?"

Giles felt Ethan twitch. "Ask your father, dear."

Turning his head to look up at Ethan, Giles asked, "Assuming you meant me, does that make you their mother?"

Ethan smirked down at him. "You seem determined to get me in drag, Rupert." He paused, biting his lip, and then added, "Again."

Feeling both girls' eyes on them, and knowing that the whole question of rimming had suddenly taken a backseat to this new titbit of information, Giles smiled. "It wasn't like I held you down and forced you into a dress."

"You told me which one to buy. Well, nick..." Ethan, who had been staring fondly into Giles' eyes, seemed to suddenly realise they had an audience. He looked up and said, "Eyes front, you bad girls. Watch the nice porn."

Only it wasn't porn anymore... the action having somehow diverged into a hospital room and a woman with a baby.

"Gay sex doesn't usually lead to that," Giles murmured for Ethan's ears only as the girls chattered back and forth amongst themselves, trying to pick the plot back up.

"No, I'm lost," Ethan admitted, not that he seemed to care much as he was looking back down at Giles, stroking his hair. Ethan's lower hand had moved a little up Giles' body and was now resting just above his belt buckle, the fingers slipped between the buttons of Giles' shirt to tickle his skin.

Giles almost felt like purring under the light touches, closing his eyes and enjoying the attention. "We'll have to watch it again, when we're not so... distracted."

Since their transcendent experience on the cliff-top together, Ethan had seemed a little different somehow to Giles. Obviously, Ethan was now restored to full health, but it wasn't just that. Ethan seemed lighter, more at ease, more... comfortable in his own skin. He was increasingly physically affectionate, although Giles had to admit that probably applied to himself as well; their growing bond made it very difficult to keep their hands away from each other. But with Ethan, it was more than just that, although it was difficult to define how.

It was almost as if Ethan was becoming the man he should have been, had Chaos not taken over his life, and Giles was finding that he liked that man very much. They fit together better than they ever had previously; the friction that had always seemed just below the surface simply wasn't there anymore.

"How are you feeling now, dearheart?" Ethan asked very quietly.

Giles opened his eyes to look up at Ethan. "Quite content," he replied, reaching for Ethan's hand where it lay on his stomach and entwining their fingers. "You seem to have the magic touch." His mouth quirked into a smile. "No pun intended."

"Yes, I'm not sure that magic touching would be all that wise in the current company, knowing how such things normally end up." Ethan's eyes twinkled. "I must say, I enjoyed last night. We should go out more."

Despite his worries about how well he would be accepted, Ethan had ultimately been deep in his social element at the full coven gathering. Giles hadn't seen Ethan dance for a very long time, but he now had new memories to cherish of Ethan moving through the smoke from the huge bonfire, somewhat drunk, and full of the same catlike grace he'd always possessed.

Giles hadn't been the only one to notice; Ethan had had no lack of dance partners, or partners for other things if he'd been so inclined. Giles had found himself watching with pride, but also a little... disquiet.

It wasn't jealousy because he was certain he could trust Ethan not to stray, but after a while, Giles hadn't wanted to watch him moving so sinuously with other people. This... possessiveness, he guessed was the best word for it, eventually led him to join Ethan among the celebrants, dancing and losing himself in a way that he hadn't since the old days, and rarely even then.

Which went a long way to explaining his condition when he woke up this morning.

Ethan, of course, had woken up complaining more loudly than Giles, but following a sturdy breakfast and a lot of coffee, he had seemed remarkably free of adverse side effects from the night before. He certainly seemed wide-awake now as he focused on the screen again. "Ah, the porn's back. That boy has a lovely arse, don't you agree? Oh..."

Giles glanced back at the TV and had to fight the urge to do a double-take.

"Ohh, so _that's_ what rimming is," Megan said, staring.

"That's slightly more porn than I was expecting," Giles murmured.

"Well, they don't actually _show_ it..." Ethan said. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He was fidgeting.

The scene had changed to something more innocent, and Kat turned round to look at them, a bright expression on her face. "So do you guys ever do that?"

"Watch Doctor Who?" Giles asked, deliberately misunderstanding and referring to what was on the screen now.

"That rimming thing," Kat clarified helpfully. Megan looked around to hear the answer as well.

Giles opened his mouth then closed it when he realised he had no idea what to say. He looked up. "Ethan, why don't you field this one?"

Ethan's eyes widened, and he seemed about to protest, but then his eyes fell back to the screen. "Oh look, more porn," he said weakly.

It worked. Both girls looked back to watch the simulated anal sex... Until the inevitable moment when they turned around again, and Kat asked, "How about that? Do you do that?"

"Okay, that's it." Ethan twisted on the sofa in order to reach over the side, forcing Giles to lift his head. Ethan's hand reappeared with the television remote, and he turned the box off. "You girls can watch this on your own if you like," he said, and there was a strong tone in his voice that Giles didn't think he'd ever really heard before. "But not with us. And there will be no more questions about my sex life with Rupert. Do you understand?"

Ethan sounded like... a Watcher? A father?

Giles found he was staring up at Ethan again, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the girls were staring too.

Ethan prompted the Slayers. ""Yes, Ethan. We'll do just what you say, Ethan, and we'll stop gazing gormlessly at you as if you'd transformed into a gorgonite demon." He looked down at Giles. "And you can stop that too."

"Me?" Giles held his hands up in mock defence. "I'm just lying here listening to you take charge."

Ethan wriggled uncomfortably, clearly not too happy with the idea. "Shh," he said and placed a fingertip over Giles' mouth.

Megan giggled and stood, pulling Kat with her. "That, I think, would be our cue to leave. Before you two start doing things we're not supposed to ask about."

Kat, frowning deeply, seemed about to argue, but then appeared to see something in Ethan's expression that stopped her speaking. She followed Megan to the door.

"Kat?" Ethan called softly. When she turned, he said, "I love my birthday porn. Thank you."

She smiled, looking much happier, and the two Slayers left the room, closing the door behind them.

"It can be a bit disconcerting, can't it?" Giles asked, after watching Ethan for a moment.

"Shut up," he replied mildly, staring out of the window.

Sitting up, Giles shifted so he could wrap his arms around Ethan's waist and pull him back against him. "It happened to me too," he said conversationally.

"Rupert, whatever are you talking about?" Ethan asked, ever so slightly waspish. "You've always been 'in charge'."

Giles ignored Ethan's irritation and dropped a kiss at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Suddenly discovering you feel more than a professional responsibility for young people is disconcerting," he elaborated in the same tone. "Took me totally by surprise when it happened to me."

Ethan shivered a little at the kiss, and Giles could feel the other man relaxing almost despite himself. "It was one thing feeling responsible for their well-being, quite another to find myself, the arch-corrupter, turning into a prude."

Swallowing the laughter that threatened at that description, Giles assured Ethan, "I don't think you're a prude."

Ethan wriggled around in Giles' arms to face him. "I am not a figure of fun either," he asserted, seeming to sense the amusement Giles was repressing, but the corners of Ethan's own mouth were twitching upwards.

"Oh, I don't know," Giles teased. "I find you quite a lot of fun."

Ethan looked hard at him for a few moments, lips twisted in a wry expression, but then he laughed. "I suppose," he said, after kissing Giles, "We should think about getting ready for our big important visit this afternoon."

As it hadn't even been noon the last time Giles had glanced at the clock, and their meeting with the Coven Seer wasn't scheduled until around tea time, he wondered exactly how much getting ready Ethan thought they were going to need. "It's a bit early yet, isn't it?"

"Oh no," Ethan assured him, his fingers travelling down Giles' chest and unerringly finding a cloth-covered nipple to play with. "We are going to need every single minute available if we're to be ready on time."

A tiny thrum of arousal went through Giles from where Ethan touched him. "Have something in mind, do you?" he asked, his voice becoming a bit huskier already.

"Perhaps," Ethan said, twisting his fingers just a little cruelly. "As you seem to find the idea of me 'in charge' to be somewhat of a joke, I should amuse you further." He leant forward to flick his tongue over Giles' lips.

The thrum of arousal got a little stronger at the suggestion. "I'm at your disposal," Giles murmured tilting his head back and offering his throat in a submissive gesture.

Ethan seemed to hesitate briefly, but then licked slowly all the way from Giles' breastbone to the tip of his chin, before kissing him hard. Giles felt a hand sneak around behind his neck and fingers knot into the hair above his nape.

It was easy to get lost in the kiss, in Ethan's touch, but Giles made sure to let his lover keep control. Ethan's tongue filled his mouth, and Giles found himself being pressed further and further back into the sofa.

As he made it to a prone position, Giles moved his legs to accommodate Ethan's weight on top of him more easily, which coincidentally pressed his growing erection against Ethan more firmly. He kissed Ethan back enthusiastically and lightly rested his hands on Ethan's hips, but Giles was still careful not to take the lead from him.

Which all made it a bit of a shame when Ethan stopped suddenly and sat up.

"What...?" Giles began, automatically reaching to pull him back down again.

Ethan avoided Giles' hands. "I'm sorry. I... I can't." He stood up. "This isn't..."

Giles immediately stood and silenced the words with a kiss. "It's all right," he murmured, pulling Ethan up and tightly against him then letting his hands slide down to cup Ethan's arse. It was obvious that the problem was concerning Ethan taking charge. There was, at the back of Giles' mind, a flicker of disappointment, but it was hardly noticed.

It didn't matter how he and Ethan came together; having Ethan in his arms and pressed up against him this way was much more important.

***

Ethan was feeling perhaps overly fastidious. There was free-range humanitarian farming on the one hand, and there was just letting all the animals wander wherever the hell they wanted on the other. This was the latter, and there was what he horribly suspected was pigshit on his shoe.

The Coven seer, apparently, lived in a ramshackle building in the middle of a fenced off plot of land within which dangerous wild animals –well, pigs, goats, geese and chickens, and, ah yes, a donkey– roamed as they would.

Ethan walked very close to Rupert as they made their way to the house, hoping for protection should any of the swine become aggressive. Rupert glanced sideways at him as they walked, his entire manner amused. "City boy," he teased.

Ethan shot him a look. "What of it?"

"You're looking at the animals as if they're a pack of hungry hydrin demons, and you're the first food they'd seen in a month."

"Geese can be vicious," Ethan insisted. He was pretty sure he'd read that somewhere. "Although they make nice eating." He grinned toothily at the nearest large white bird, and to his surprise, it honked and ran away, starting a little flurry of fowl fleeing from them. He turned to Rupert, still grinning. "Do you think they understand English?"

Rupert stared at him without speaking for a long moment. "I think," he finally said slowly, "it's more what they saw than what they heard."

Ethan blinked, and then, having a sneaking suspicion what Rupert was seeing, he opened his magic senses up to his own body. "Oops," he said, when he found and corrected the fox-eyes he was currently sporting. "Um, I guess all the feathers just brought it out in me."

He was going to have to talk to Ian about that before they left Devon tomorrow. His mentor had been training Ethan to shape-change into what Ian called Ethan's 'heart-beast' and what Rupert called his 'spirit animal'. But it wasn't meant to happen accidentally.

Apparently thinking along similar lines, Rupert said mildly, "I'll buy you a pair of sunglasses when we go back to London."

"Good idea." Ethan chuckled then swore as he narrowly avoided stepping in another pile of something disgusting.

They reached what passed for a front door in the broken down house. "Keri?" Rupert called out as he pushed the door open and stepped into the dim interior.

There were, predictably, roosting chickens inside. There was also a very strange smell, and from further in, Ethan thought he could hear... bubbling?

"Come in, come in," a female voice called from the next room. The owner of the voice appeared in the inner doorway a few seconds later. She was young, younger than Ethan had expected given what he'd heard of her,. She looked little older than the children Rupert had shepherded in Sunnydale. She was dressed in a long, chocolate brown dress over which an apron was tied. Her hair was sandy brown and gathered up in a bun at the nape of her neck, although wisps escaped to curl around her face.

She wasn't pretty; her features were too sharp, her nose too long, her hazel eyes far too knowing to ever have that word applied to her. But she had a presence that was impossible to ignore, and an air of power that made the hairs on Ethan's arms stand up.

"Nice place you have here," he said with a vacuous grin.

That brought her attention to focus on him, and Ethan could feel his knees wanting to buckle under the weight of her stare. Without moving her gaze, she smiled and spoke, but not to him. "Rupert. I see you've finally found the treasure you lost."

"If you'd been a little more specific as to what treasure you'd been talking about, I might have been more prompt," Rupert replied with good humour.

"Ah, but then you would have missed the journey, and that is the most important part." Finally, she turned to look at Rupert, and Ethan let out a breath of relief at being out from under her eyes for the moment. "It's good to see you, Rupert," she said with a smile.

If Rupert was as uncomfortable under her regard as Ethan had been, he didn't show it. He returned the smile and reached for her hands. "Likewise. You're looking well."

Ethan wondered if anyone would notice if he slunk off to the car. He took a cautious step back just to see what would happen.

Keri squeezed Rupert's hands, and without looking over at Ethan, asked, "Are you going to introduce me?"

"I'm starting to wonder if I need to," Rupert replied, but nonetheless, he let go of her hands to turn and reach out to Ethan.

Unsuccessfully disguising his reluctance, Ethan allowed himself to be pulled closer to the woman again. He decided trying to look her in the eye wasn't worth breaking out into a sweat over so instead gazed at a broody chicken nesting on an ancient armchair. "So just how much of this livestock was once human?" he asked casually, as if talking about the weather.

She laughed, the sound like warm cashmere against Ethan's ears, and although her aura of power didn't fade, it no longer seemed quite so intimidating. "My talents lie elsewhere from transmogrification," Keri told him, still smiling. "I read the patterns; I don't change them."

Ethan understood immediately what she meant. In his own limited fashion, he could view the past and near future of a given pattern, just enough to know how to twist it. Keri, he imagined, saw a great deal further. He moved closer to Rupert and gave the seer an uneasy smile. "That must make for an interesting life."

"We all have our paths to walk," she answered without really answering at all. "Some of us just take longer to find them."

He frowned at the criticism he heard in her words if not her tone. "Didn't you just say that the journey was the most important part?" He turned to Rupert, who was considerably more relaxing a visual prospect. "And what was that about lost treasure?"

"It was something that Keri told me last time I was here, that I had to seek out the treasure that was lost. That was the wording, wasn't it?" Rupert looked at Keri for confirmation.

She nodded. "You have an excellent memory, Rupert."

Ethan privately thought that Rupert might as well have read it in the horoscope column of the Daily Star if that was how non-specific she'd been. He kept his thoughts to himself however. The odd smell was intensifying, and he didn't think he needed visionary ability to know what was bubbling in the next room. "I think your cauldron may be boiling over, sweet thing."

Keri gave him another of those mysterious smiles and disappeared back deeper into the house.

Ethan relaxed a little once she was gone, although not a great deal as this house was too much like something from cautionary Russian folklore. He wouldn't be at all surprised to feel it lift up and start running around on huge chicken legs. He turned and leant into Rupert, no longer trying to hide how... disturbed he felt here.

Rupert wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled his cheek comfortingly. "It was you," he said.

"What? Oh." Ethan suddenly understood; Rupert was referring to the missing treasure. "No wonder it took you so long then. Mislabelled goods."

Rupert chuckled. "We've got the right labels on everything now."

"I think my current label reads 'doesn't belong here'," Ethan confessed. "The fox in me feels like he's trying to masquerade as a hound in the huntsman's kennels."

"Keri has that effect on people." Rupert's hands were moving lightly over him, rubbing Ethan's back in soothing circles.

"Not on you apparently. Oh God..." A small pig was snuffling its way through the door. Ethan moved so Rupert was between him and it.

He knew he was being what the Slayers would undoubtedly term a 'wuss', but he felt what he felt, and every instinct inside him was telling him that this was a dangerous place to be. It was, apparently, his day for nancyish behaviour anyway, after he'd failed to take charge during their sexual escapades earlier. He knew he'd disappointed Rupert, however hard his lover had tried to hide it, but he was what he was.

Something deep inside Ethan _needed_ Rupert to be the boss of him, and while Ethan could mock-dominate in play for short periods, as soon as things became more serious, he needed Rupert to take the reins back. He didn't like to think about why this was as he strongly suspected he wouldn't like the answer, which would probably involve the fact he didn't trust himself as far as he could, um, toss a caber.

Feeling like the weak man he apparently was, Ethan mumbled in Rupert's ear, "Can we get this done with quickly then go somewhere... free of livestock?"

Rupert turned so he could kiss Ethan then smiled affectionately at him. "This won't take long, love. We can even stop for a bacon sandwich on the way back."

Ethan felt an evil and appreciative grin forming on his face. "Hear that, Babe?" he said to the pig. "That's the sound of your mum sizzling." Which was possibly not the ideal thing for him to be saying when Keri walked back into the room.

The look she bestowed on him was amused, but that didn't make Ethan feel any better. "So," she said, wiping her hands off on her apron, "you're here for dream interpretation."

Ethan looked expectantly at Rupert.

Rupert opened his mouth to answer, but Keri held up a hand to stop him. "Tell me about the dream, Ethan," she bid, her gaze having never left him.

Ethan felt his eyes widen, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself making an urgent request that she go and do something obscene. "Really, I don't think I'm the one to talk to about this."

Keri smiled at him. "You are the perfect one to talk about it," she told him. "Rupert lets his training get in the way of his instincts. You've lived by your instincts for far too long to do that."

"I seem to be doing a good job of not listening to them currently," Ethan replied petulantly, but he sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head on Rupert's shoulder. He obviously wasn't going to be allowed to leave until this was done, so he might as well talk.

He thought back to the dream from the night of his birthday. While Rupert and he hadn't discussed it in great detail afterwards, they'd shared enough of the imagery to feel convinced that they had both been in the same dream. Ethan's memory of it was still pretty clear. "Rupert and I are standing on a stage within the symbol for infinity, which is chalked on the boards. There's an audience."

Rupert wrapped his arms around Ethan in a loose but supportive embrace as Keri asked, "What are you feeling in the dream?"

Grateful for the contact with Rupert, Ethan didn't look up. "I don't remember any particular emotion until Rupert leaves the stage. Then the audience starts throwing things, and I feel... scared, but not of them. It's almost as if I wasn't really aware in the dream, until he leaves me to fend for myself."

Rupert made a sound in his throat. "That's not right."

Ethan opened his eyes and looked up. "I believe it is."

Rupert shook his head. "I didn't leave, you did. I was chasing you."

"No," Ethan said slowly. "I was definitely the one trying to find you. In _my_ dream, at least."

"Interesting," Keri murmured.

Rupert turned his attention to the seer. "Interesting?" he repeated.

"You had the same point of view. You see the same weaknesses in yourselves, and the same strengths in the other. You fear the same things, and that fear in the past has led you both to do the very thing you're afraid of."

Ethan wanted to argue as there was no way he could believe Rupert saw in him what he saw in Rupert, but again he let discretion rule him and simply carried on with his account of the dream. "I ran after him, through the wings. There was some confusing stuff with racks of costumes and huge masks, like carnival heads; then I was following Rupert into the star's dressing room.

"You both fear losing each other behind the faces you show the world," Keri said. "It's a fear that has merit, and one you should guard against."

Ethan moved closer to Rupert. "No more masks," he muttered, before continuing with the retelling. "I sat at a dressing table and smeared grease paint across my face. I was... upset. I asked my image in the mirror where Rupert was, and my image answered that he was behind the curtain. There was a changing screen in the room. I pulled back the curtain and there was a full-length mirror beyond. Rupert was in the mirror, beckoning, so I went through the looking glass. Only to find myself drowning in deep, dangerous waters."

"It was the same for me," Rupert said softly. "Except I was where Ethan was, and he was where he saw me." He hesitated and added, "The drowning in deep waters part was very similar to a guided meditation I did a few weeks back."

Keri nodded. "The symbolism holds from one to the other."

"That of being overwhelmed by things outside our control." Ethan looked emphatically at Rupert. "It was Chaos, that thing in the depths. Certainly, it was other things as well –my inability to cope with losing you, and apparently, your fear of your own magic, but it was intrinsically, intensely Chaos. I'd know it anywhere."

"You are more right than you know," Keri told them, voice solemn and serious.

Ethan wasn't at all sure what that meant, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know either so didn't ask. This was the worst bit of the dream; the part he had genuine trouble replaying. "In order to save myself from the Chaos in the abyss, I threw it my heart, which kept it distracted. I was still going to drown, but at least the maelstrom would not have me." He shut his eyes once more, hugging Rupert tightly. "Before knowing that we shared the same role in the dream, I had assumed this part was about something I once did to Rupert and why, followed by my years of incarceration."

"I had thought it was about... back then," Rupert said haltingly, his voice soft and full of regret. "In the cemetery. When I..." Ethan hugged him tighter still.

"Lies and fears are Chaos' weapons clouding the path. You've both made decisions that ignored your heart's wisdom." Keri's voice warmed with her next words. "You're both far less likely to make that type of mistake again."

"Rupert rescued me," Ethan continued, not totally clear if he was talking about the dream or real life with those three words. "I, er... There was a malignant forest, it felt like... cancer. But it couldn't hurt us because we were together, and we drew the Infinity symbol around ourselves again and the forest burnt away. And that was really it apart from a brief scene involving our spirit beasts, which we more or less lived out a few days ago on a cliff-top."

"It was a true seeing," Keri said after a moment's silence. "You were always meant to walk the same path. Now that you've joined your destinies, you will have more of these... signposts."

Ethan snorted softly. "Love, magic, destiny..." he murmured very quietly by Rupert's ear.

"Indeed," Rupert murmured back, the smile evident in his voice.

"Pay attention to your dreams," Keri bade them. "Discuss them when they come. You have it in you to interpret them, but only if you approach them together. Remember what this dream is telling you – you are connected, and you're strongest when you work together."

Her eyes took on a distant look, her voice becoming more powerful and commanding. "You are going to need all of your strength. The seasons change. Even the most deeply hibernating bear eventually awakens. The pattern frays and threatens to unravel. Nothing will be sought by dark and light. Nothing is the key – turn it one way and the threads will be warped and torn; turn it the other and the bear will howl its rage in the wilderness. You will have to do much more than watch; you are the guardians and the defenders. All is a maze, and only those who have touched its substance will be able to find the end. The dark is jealous and solitary; it does not understand selflessness or love. It does not understand the light. That, ultimately, will be its downfall."

"Bugger," Ethan swore softly. Everything else Keri had said, he could have come up with himself easily enough, and it could just as easily have been confidence tricking as genuine insight. But there was no doubt at all that that long spiel had been the genuine article.

The room had developed a chill as if the use of power to see the future patterns had drawn the heat from the air. The pig was now trying to leave the room in a hurry, and the chickens were plumped out as if it were winter.

Ethan himself was chilled inside by Keri's words and the future they seemed to indicate. He had, to be honest, rather been looking forward to a long and easy married life with the man of his dreams. Her prophecy –as it clearly was one– made it all too clear that relaxing was one thing the future was not. He screwed his face up, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

Destiny was all very well in theory, but Ethan was rather decidedly fond of free will.

**Author's Note:**

> So very many thanks go to Wesleysgirl and mpoetess for staunch and reliable betaing.


End file.
